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THE BLUE GERM 

martin swayne 


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THE BLUE GERM 

BY 

MARTIN SWAYNE 

Author of “ The Sporting Instinct 
“In Mesopotamia,” etc . 


NEW 



YORK 


GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 




Copyright , 1918, 

By George H. Doran Company 


Printed in the United States of America 

SEP 23 1918 * 




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©CU5035Q4 







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TO 

J. E. H. W. 

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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. BLACK MAGIC 11 

II. SAKAK OFF’S MANIFESTO 15 

III. THE BUTTERFLIES 24 

IV. THE SIX TUBES SI 

V. THE GREAT AQUEDUCT S9 

VI. THE ATTITUDE OF MR. THORNDUCK . . 42 

VH. LEONORA 49 

VHI. THE BLUE DISEASE 67 

IX. THE MAN FROM BIRMINGHAM . . .76 

X. THE ILLNESS OF MR. ANNOT .... 88 


XI. THE RESURRECTION . . . . . .99 

XII. MR. CLUTTERBUCk’s OPINION . . . 110 

XIII. THE DEAD IMMORTAL 119 

XIV. FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF IMMORTALITY . 132 

XV. THE TERRIBLE FEAR 141 

XVI. THE VISIT OF THE HOME SECRETARY . 153 

XVII. CLUTTERBUCK’S ODD BEHAVIOUR . . 165 

XVIH. IMMORTAL LOVE 170 

XIX. THE MEETING AT THE QUEEN’S HALL . 186 

XX. THE WAY BACK . 197 

XXI. JASON 205 

vii 


viii 

CONTENTS 





CHAPTEB 





PAGE 

XXII. 

THE FIRST MURDERS . 


• 


. 215 

XXIII. 

AT DOWNING STREET 




. 225 

XXIV. 

NIGHT OF AN IMMORTAL . 




. 233 

XXV. 

OUR FLIGHT .... 




. 238 

XXVI. 

on the Spaniard’s walk 




. 245 

XXVII. 

Leonora’s voice 




. 254 

XXVIII. 

THE KILLING OF DESIRE . 


• 


. 261 

XXIX. 

THE REVOLT OF THE YOUNG 

. 

• 

• 

. 269 

XXX. 

THE GREAT SLEEP 


• 

• 

. 282 


THE BLUE GERM 



THE 

BLUE GERM 


CHAPTER I 
BLACK MAGIC 

1 HAD just finished breakfast, and deeply 
perplexed had risen from the table in or- 
der to get a box of matches to light a cigarette, 
when my black cat got between my feet and 
tripped me up. 

I fell forwards, making a clutch at the table- 
cloth. My forehead struck the corner of the 
fender and the last thing I remembered was a 
crash of falling crockery. Then all became 
darkness. My parlour-maid found me lying 
face downwards on the hearth-rug ten minutes 
later. My cat was sitting near my head, 
blinking contentedly at the fire. A little 
blood was oozing from a wound above my left 
eye. 

They carried me up to my bedroom and 
11 


THE BLUE GERM 


12 

sent for my colleague, Wilfred Hammer, who 
lived next door. For three days I lay insensi- 
ble, and Hammer came in continually, when- 
ever he could spare the time from his patients, 
and brooded over me. On the fourth day I 
began to move about in my bed, restless and 
muttering, and Hammer told me afterwards 
that I seemed to be talking of a black cat. 
On the night of the fourth day I suddenly 
opened my eyes. My perplexity had left me. 
An idea, clear as crystal, was now in my mind. 

From that moment my confinement to bed 
was a source of impatience to me. Hammer, 
large, fair, square-headed, and imperturbable, 
insisted on complete rest, and I chafed under 
the restraint. I had only one desire — to get 
up, slip down to St. Dane’s Hospital in my 
car, mount the bare stone steps that led up to 
the laboratory and begin work at once. 

“Let me up, Hammer,” I implored. 

“My dear fellow, you’re semi-delirious.” 

“I must get up,” I muttered. 

He laughed slowly. 

“Not for another week or two. Harden. 
How is the black cat?” 

“That cat is a wizard.” 


BLACK MAGIC 


13 


I lay watching him between half -closed eye- 
lids. 

“He gave me the idea.” 

“He gave you a nasty concussion,” said 
Hammer. 

“It was probably the only way to the idea,” 
I answered. “I tell you the cat is a wizard. 
He did it on purpose. He’s a black magi- 
cian.” 

Hammer laughed again, and went towards 
the door. 

“Then the idea must be black magic,” he 
said. 

I smiled painfully, for my head was throb- 
bing. But I was happier then than I had ever 
been, for I had solved the problem that had 
haunted my brain for ten years. 

“There’s no such thing as black magic,” I 
said. 

Three weeks later I beheld the miracle. It 
was wrought on the last day of December, in 
the laboratory of the hospital, high above the 
gloom and squalor of the city. The miracle 
occurred within a brilliant little circle of light, 
and I saw it with my eye glued to a microscope. 


THE BLUE GERM 


14 

It passed off swiftly and quietly, and though I 
expected it, I was filled with a great wonder 
and amazement. 

To a lay mind the amazement with which I 
beheld the miracle will require explanation. I 
had witnessed the transformation of one germ 
into another; a thing which is similar to a man 
seeing a flock of sheep on a hill-side change 
suddenly into a herd of cattle. For many 
minutes I continued to move the slide in an 
aimless way with trembling fingers. My tem- 
perament is earthy; it had once occurred to 
me quite seriously that if I saw a miracle I 
would probably go mad under the strain. 
Now that I had seen one, after the first flash 
of realization my mind was listless and dull, 
and all feeling of surprise had died away. The 
black rods floated with slow motion in the 
minute currents of fluid I had introduced. 
The faint roar of London came up from far 
below ; the clock ticked steadily and the micro- 
scope lamp shone with silent radiance. And I, 
Richard Harden, sat dangling my short legs 
on the high stool, thinking and thinking. . . . 

That night I wrote to Professor Sarakoff. 
A month later I was on my way to Russia. 


CHAPTER II 
sarakoff’s manifesto 

T HE recollection of my meeting with Sara- 
koff remains vividly in my mind. I was 
shown into a large hare room, heated by an 
immense stove like an iron pagoda. The floor 
was of light yellow polished wood; the walls 
were white- washed, and covered with pencil 
marks. A big table covered with papers and 
books stood at one end. At the other, through 
an open doorway, there was a glimpse of a 
laboratory. Sarakoff stood in the centre of 
the room, his hands deep in his pockets, his pipe 
sending up clouds of smoke, his tall muscular 
frame tilted back. His eyes were fixed on an 
extraordinary object that crawled slowly over 
the polished floor. It was a gigantic tortoise 
— a specimen of Testudo elephantopus — a 
huge cumbersome brute. Its ancient, scaly 
head was thrust out and its eyes gleamed with 
a kind of sharp intelligence. The surface of 

15 


16 


THE BLUE GERM 


its vast and massive shell was covered over with 
scribbles in white chalk — notes made by Sara- 
koff who was in the habit of jotting down fig- 
ures and formulae on anything near at hand. 

As there was only one chair in the room, 
Sarakoff eventually thrust me into it, while he 
sat down on the great beast — whom he called 
Belshazzar — and told me over and over again 
how glad he was to see me. And this warmth 
of his was pleasant to me. 

“Are you experimenting on Belshazzar?” I 
asked at length. 

He nodded, and smiled enigmatically. 

“He is two hundred years old,” he said. “I 
want to get at his secret.” 

That was the first positive proof I got of the 
line of research Sarakoff was intent upon, al- 
though, reading between the lines of his many 
publications, I had guessed something of it. 

In every way, Sarakoff was a complete con- 
trast to me. Tall, lean, black-bearded and 
deep-voiced, careless of public opinion and 
prodigal in ideas, he was just my antithesis. 
He was possessed of immense energy. His 
tousled black hair, moustaches and beard 
seemed to bristle with it; it shone in his pale 


SARAKOFF’S MANIFESTO 


17 


blue eyes. He was full of sudden violence, 
flinging test-tubes across the laboratory, shout- 
ing strange songs, striding about snapping his 
fingers. There was no repose in him. At 
first I was a little afraid of him, but the feeling 
wore off. He spoke English fluently, because 
when a boy he had been at school in London. 

I will not enter upon a detailed account of 
our conversation that first morning in Russia, 
when the snow lay thick on the roofs of the 
city, and the ferns of frost sparkled on the 
window-panes of the laboratory. Briefly, w T e 
found ourselves at one over many problems 
of human research, and I congratulated myself 
on the fact that in communicating the account 
of the miracle at St. Dane’s Hospital to Sara- 
koff alone, I had done wisely. He was won- 
derfully enthusiastic. 

“That discovery of yours has furnished the 
key to the great riddle I had set myself,” he 
exclaimed, striding to and fro. “We will as- 
tonish the world, my friend. It is only a ques- 
tion of time.” 

“But what is the riddle you speak of?” I 
asked. 

“I will tell you soon. Have patience!” he 


18 


THE BLUE GERM 


cried. He came towards me impulsively and 
shook my hand. “We shall find it beyond 
a doubt, and we will call it the Sarakoff-Har- 
den Bacillus ! What do you think of that?” 

I was somewhat mystified. He sat down 
again on the back of the tortoise, smoking in 
his ferocious manner and smiling and nodding 
to himself. I thought it best to let him disclose 
his plans in his own way, and kept back the 
many eager questions that rose to my lips. 

“It seems to me,” said Sarakoff suddenly, 
“that England would be the best place to try 
the experiment. There’s a telegraph every- 
where, reporters in every village, and enough 
newspapers to carpet every square inch of the 
land. In a word, it’s a first-class place to 
watch the results of an experiment.” 

“On a large scale?” 

“On a gigantic scale — an experiment, ulti- 
mately, on the world.” 

I was puzzled and was anxious to draw him 
into fuller details. 

“It would begin in England?” I asked care- 
lessly. 

He nodded. 

“But it would spread. You remember how 


SARAKOFF’S MANIFESTO 


19 


the last big outbreak of influenza, which started 
in this country, spread like wildflre until the 
waves, passing east and west, met on the other 
side of the globe? That was a big experi- 
ment.” 

“Of nature,” I added. 

He did not reply. 

“An experiment of nature, you mean?” I 
urged. At the time of the last big outburst of 
influenza which began in Russia, Sarakoff must 
have been a student. Did he know anything 
about the origin of the mysterious and fatal 
visitation? 

“Yes, of nature,” he replied at last, but not 
in a tone that satisfied me. His manner in- 
trigued me so much that I felt inclined to pur- 
sue the subject, but at that moment we were 
interrupted in a singular way. 

The door burst open, and into the room 
rushed a motley crowd of men. Most of them 
were young students, but here and there I saw 
older men, and at the head of the mob was a 
‘ white-bearded individual, wearing an astrachan 
cap, who brandished a copy of some Russian 
periodical in his hand. 

Belshazzar drew in his head with a hiss that 


20 THE BLUE GERM 

I could hear even above the clamour of this 
intrusion. 

A furious colloquy began, which I could not 
understand, since it was in Russian. Sarakoff 
stood facing the angry crowd coolly enough, 
but that he was inwardly roused to a dangerous 
degree, I could tell from his gestures. The 
copy of the periodical was much in evidence. 
Fists were shaken freely. The aged, white- 
bearded leader worked himself up into a frenzy 
and finally jumped on the periodical, stamping 
it under his feet until he was out of breath. 

Then this excited band trooped out of the 
room and left us in peace. 

“What is it?” I asked when their steps had 
died away. 

Sarakoff shrugged his shoulders and then 
laughed. He picked up the battered periodi- 
cal and pointed to an article in it. 

“I published a manifesto this morning — that 
is all,” he remarked airily. 

“What sort of manifesto?” 

“On the origin of death.” He sat down 
on Belshazzar’s broad back and twisted his 
moustaches. “You see, Harden, I believe that 
in a few more years death will only exist as an 


SARAKOFF’S MANIFESTO 21 

uncertain element, appearing rarely, as an un- 
natural and exceptional incident. Life will be 
limitless; and the length of years attained hy 
Belshazzar will seem as nothing.” 

It is curious how the spirit of a new discovery 
broods over the world like a capricious being, 
animating one investigator here, another there ; 
partially revealing itself in this continent, dis- 
closing another of its secrets in that, until all 
the fragments when fitted together make up the 
whole wonder. It seems that my discovery, 
coupled with the results of his own unpublished 
researches, had led Sarakoff to make that odd 
manifesto. Our combined work, although car- 
ried out independently, had given the firm 
groundwork of an amazing theory which Sara- 
koff had been maturing in his excited brain 
for many long years. 

Sarakoff translated the manifesto to me. It 
was a trifle bombastic, and its composition 
appeared to me vague. No wonder it had 
roused hostility among his colleagues, I 
thought, as Sarakoff walked about, declaiming 
with outstretched arm. Put as briefly as pos- 
sible, Sarakoff held all disease as due to germs 
of one sort or another; and decay of bodily 


22 


THE BLUE GERM 


tissue he regarded in the same light. In such 
a theory I stood beside him. 

He continued to translate from the soiled 
and torn periodical, waving his arm majes- 
tically. 

“We have only to eliminate all germs from 
the world to banish disease and decay — and 
death. Such an end can be attained in one 
way alone; a way which is known only to me, 
thanks to a magnificent series of profound in- 
vestigations. I announce, therefore, that the 
disappearance of death from this planet can be 
anticipated with the utmost confidence. Let 
us make preparations. Let us consider our 
laws. Let us examine our resources. Let us, 
in short, begin the reconstruction of society.” 

“Good heavens!” I exclaimed, and sat star- 
ing at him. 

He twirled his moustaches and observed me 
with shining eyes. 

“What do you think of it?” 

I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. 

“Surely it is far fetched?” 

“Not a bit of it. Now listen to me carefully. 
I’ll give you, step by step, the whole matter.” 
He walked up and down for some minutes and 


SARAKOFF’S MANIFESTO 


23 


then suddenly stopped beside me and thumped 
me on the back. “There’s not a flaw in it!” 
he cried. “It’s magnificent. My dear fellow, 
death is only a failure in human perfection. 
There’s nothing mysterious in it. Religion has 
made a ridiculous fuss about it. There’s noth- 
ing more mysterious in it than there is in a 
badly-oiled engine wearing out. Now listen. 
I’m going to begin. . . .” 

I listened, fascinated. 


CHAPTER III 


THE BUTTERFLIES 

T WO years passed by after my return to 
London without special incident, save 
that my black cat died. My work as a con- 
sulting physician occupied most of my time. 
In the greater world beyond my consulting- 
room door life went on undisturbed by any 
thought of the approaching upheaval, full of 
the old tragedies of ambition and love and sick- 
ness. But sometimes as I examined my pa- 
tients and listened to their tales of suffering 
and pain, a curious contraction of the heart 
would come upon me at the thought that per- 
haps some day, not so very far remote, all the 
endless cycle of disease and misery would cease, 
and a new dawn of hope burst with blinding 
radiance upon weary humanity. And then a 
mood of unbelief would darken my mind and I 
would view the creation of the bacillus as an 
idle and vain dream, an illusion never to be 
realized. . . . 


24 


THE BUTTERFLIES 


25 


One evening as I sat alone before my study 
fire, my servant entered and announced there 
was a visitor to see me. 

“Show him in here,” I said, thinking he was 
probably a late patient who had come on urgent 
business. 

A moment later Professor Sarakoff himself 
was shown in. 

I rose with a cry of welcome and clasped his 
hand. 

“My dear fellow, why didn’t you let me 
know you were coming?” I cried. 

He smiled upon me with a mysterious 
brightness. 

“Harden,” he said in a low voice, as if afraid 
of being heard, “I came on a sudden impulse. 
I wanted to show you something. Wait a 
moment.” 

He went out into the hall and returned bear- 
ing a square box in his hands. He laid it on 
the table and then carefully closed the door. 

“It is the first big result of my experiments,” 
he whispered. He opened the box and drew 
out a glass case covered over with white muslin. 

He stepped back from the table and looked 
at me triumphantly. 


26 


THE BLUE GERM 


“What is it?” I asked. 

“Lift up the muslin.” 

I did so. On the wooden floor of the glass 
case were a great number of dark objects. At 
first I thought they were some kind of grub, 
and then on closer inspection I saw what they 
were. 

“Butterflies!” I exclaimed. 

He held up a warning finger and tiptoed to 
the door. He opened it suddenly and seemed 
relieved to find no one outside. 

“Hush!” he said, closing the door again. 
“Yes, they are butterflies.” He came back 
to the table and gave one of the glass panels 
a tap with his finger. The butterflies stirred 
and some spread their wings. They were a 
brilliant greenish purple shot with pale blue. 
“Yes, they are butterflies.” 

I peered at them. 

“The specimen is unknown in England as 
far as I know.” 

“Quite so. They are peculiar to Russia.” 

“But what are you doing with them?” I 
asked. 

He continued to smile. 


THE BUTTERFLIES 


n 


“Do you notice anything remarkable about 
these butterflies?” 

“No,” I said after prolonged observation, 
“I can’t say I do . . . save that they are not 
denizens of this country.” 

“I think we might christen them,” he said. 
“Let us call them Lepidoptera Sarakoflii.” 
He tapped the glass again and watched the 
insects move. “But they are very remark- 
able,” he continued. “Do they appear healthy 
to you?” 

“Perfectly.” 

“You agree, then, that they are in good 
condition?” 

“They seem to be in excellent condition.” 

“No signs of decay — or disease?” 

“None.” 

He nodded. 

“And yet,” he said thoughtfully, “they 
should be, according to natural law, a mass of 
decayed tissue.” 

“Ah!” I looked at him with dawning com- 
prehension. “You mean ?” 

“I mean that they should have died long 
ago.” 

“How long do they live normally?” 


28 


THE BLUE GERM 


“About twenty to thirty hours. At the 
outside their life is not more than thirty-six 
hours. These are somewhat older.” 

I gazed at the little creatures crawling aim- 
lessly about. Aimless , did I say? There 
they were, filling up the floor of the glass case, 
moving with difficulty, getting in each other’s 
way, sprawling and colliding, apparently with- 
out aim or purpose. At that spectacle my 
thoughts might well have taken a leap into the 
future and seen, instead of a crowded mass of 
butterflies, a crowded mass of humanity. I 
asked Sarakoff a question. 

“How old are they?” I expected to hear 
they had existed perhaps a day or two beyond 
their normal limit. 

“They are almost exactly a year old,” was 
the reply. I stared, marvelling. A year old ! 
I bent down, gazing at the turbulent restless 
mass of gaudy colour. A year old — and still 
vital and healthy ! 

“You mean these insects have lived a whole 
year?” I exclaimed, still unconvinced. 

He nodded. 

“But that is a miracle!” 

“It is, proportionately, equal to a man living 


THE BUTTERFLIES 29 

twenty-five thousand years instead of the nor- 
mal seventy.” 

“You don’t suggest ?” 

He replaced the muslin covering and took 
out his pipe and tobacco pouch. Absurd, out- 
rageous ideas crowded to my mind. Was it, 
then, possible that our dream was to become 
reality? 

“I don’t suppose they’ll live much longer,” I 
stammered. 

He was silent until he had lit his pipe. 

“If you met a man who had lived twenty- 
five thousand years, would you be inclined to 
tell me he would not live much longer, simply 
on general considerations?” 

I could not find a satisfactory answer. 

As a matter of fact the question scarcely con- 
veyed anything to me. One can realize only by 
reference to familiar standards. The idea of 
a man who has lived one hundred and fifty 
years is to me a more realistic curiosity than 
the idea of a man twenty-five thousand years 
old. But I caught a glimpse, as it were, of 
strange figures, moving about in a colourless 
background, with calm gestures, slow speeches, 
silences perhaps a year in length. The famil- 


30 


THE BLUE GERM 


iar outline of London crumbled suddenly away, 
the blotches of shadow and the coloured shafts 
of light striking between the gaps in the 
crowds, the violet-lit tubes, the traffic, faded 
into the conception of twenty-five thousand 
years. All this many-angled, many-coloured 
modern spectacle that was a few thousand 
years removed from cave dwellings, was rolled 
flat and level, merging into this grey formless 
carpet of time. 

Next morning Sarakoff returned to Russia, 
bearing with him the wonderful butterflies, and 
for many months I heard nothing from him. 
But before he went he told me that he would 
return soon. 

“I have only one step further to take and 
the ideal germ will be created, Harden. Then 
we poor mortals will realize the dream that has 
haunted us since the beginning of time. We 
will attain immortality, and the fear of death, 
round which everything is built, will vanish. 
We will become gods!” 

“Or devils, Sarakoff!” I murmured. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE SIX TUBES 

O NE night, just as I entered my house, the 
telephone bell in the hall rang sharply I 
picked up the receiver impatiently, for I was 
tired with the long day’s work. 

“Is that Dr. Harden?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can you come down to Charing Cross Sta- 
tion at once ? The station-master is speaking.” 
“An accident?” 

“No. We wish you to identify a person 
who has arrived by the boat-train. The police 
are detaining him as a suspect. He gave your 
name as a reference. He is a Russian.” 

“All right. I’ll come at once.” 

I hung up the receiver and told the servant 
to whistle for a taxi-cab. Ten minutes later I 
was picking my way through the crowds on the 
platform to the station-master’s office. I en- 
tered, and found a strange scene being enacted. 
On one side of a table stood Sarakoff, very 
31 


32 THE BLUE GERM 

flushed, with shining eyes, clasping a black bag 
tightly to his breast. On the other side stood a 
group of four men, the station-master, a police 
officer, a plain clothes man and an elderly gen- 
tleman in white spats. The last was pointing 
an accusing finger at Sarakoff. 

“Open that bag and we’ll believe you!” he 
shouted. 

Sarakoff glared at him defiantly. 

I recognized his accuser at once. It was 
Lord Alberan, the famous Tory obstructionist. 

“Anarchist!” Lord Alberan’s voice rang 
out sharply. He took out a handkerchief and 
mopped his face. 

“Arrest him!” he said to the constable with 
an air of satisfaction. “I knew he was an 
anarchist the moment I set eyes on him at 
Dover. There is an infernal machine in that 
bag. The man reeks of vodka. He is mad.” 

“Idiot,” exclaimed Sarakoff, with great ve- 
hemence. “I drink nothing but water.” 

“He wishes to destroy London,” said Lord 
Alberan coldly. “There is enough dynamite 
in that bag to blow the whole of Trafalgar 
Square into fragments. Arrest him in- 
stantly.” 


THE SIX TUBES 


33 


I stepped forward from the shadows by the 
door. Sarakoff uttered a cry of pleasure. 

“Ah, Harden, I knew you would come. 
Get me out of this stupid situation!” 

“What is the matter?” I asked, glancing at 
the station-master. He explained briefly that 
Lord Alberan and Sarakoff had travelled up in 
the same compartment from Dover, and that 
Sarakoff’s strange restlessness and excited 
movements had roused Lord Alberan’s sus- 
picions. As a consequence Sarakoff had been 
detained for examination. 

“If he would open his bag we should be 
satisfied,” added the station-master. I looked 
at my friend significantly. 

“Why not open it?” I asked. “It would be 
simplest.” 

My words had the effect of quieting the ex- 
cited professor. He put the bag on the table, 
and placed his hands on the top of it. 

“Very well,” he said slowly, “I will open it, 
since my friend Dr. Harden has requested me 
to do so.” 

“Stand back!” cried Lord Alberan, flinging 
out his arms. “We may be so much dust fly- 
ing over London in a moment.” 


34 


THE BLUE GERM 


Sarakoff took out a key and unlocked the 
bag. There was silence for a moment, only 
broken by hunying footsteps on the platform 
without. Then Lord Alberan stepped cau- 
tiously forward. 

He saw the worn canvas lining of the bag. 
He took a step nearer and saw a wooden rack, 
fitted in the interior, containing six glass tubes 
whose mouths were stopped with plugs of cot- 
ton wool. 

“You see, there is nothing important there,” 
said Sarakoff with a smile. “These objects are 
of purely scientific interest.” He took out one 
of the tubes and held it up to the light. It was 
half full of a semi-transparent jelly-like mass, 
faintly blue in colour. The detective, the po- 
liceman and the station official clustered 
round, their faces turned up to the light and 
their eyes fixed on the tube. The Russian 
looked at them narrowly, and reading nothing 
but dull wonderment in their expressions, be- 
gan to speak again. 

“Yes — the Bacillus Pyocyaneus,” he said, 
with a faint mocking smile and a side glance at 
me. “It is occasionally met with in man and 
is easily detected by the blue bye-product it 


THE SIX TUBES 


35 


gives off while growing.” He twisted the 
tube slowly round. “It is quite an interesting 
culture,” he continued idly. “Do you observe 
the uniform distribution of the growth and the 
absence of any sign of liquefaction in the 
medium?” 

Lord Alberan cleared his throat. 

“I — er — I think we owe you an apology,” 
he said. “My suspicions were unfounded. 
However, I did my duty to my country by hav- 
ing you examined. Y ou must admit your con- 
duct was suspicious — highly suspicious, sir!” 

Sarakoff replaced the tube and locked the 
bag. Lord Alberan marched to the door and 
held it open. 

“We need not detain you, sir,” said the 
detective. The policeman squared his shoul- 
ders and hitched up his belt. The station offi- 
cial looked nervous. 

Dr. Sarakoff, with a gesture of indifference, 
picked up the bag and, taking me by the arm, 
passed out on to the brilliantly lit platform. 
“ Pyocyaneus ” he muttered in my ear, “yyo- 
cyaneus , indeed! Confound the fellow. He 
might have got me into no end of trouble if he 
had known the truth, Harden.” 


36 


THE BLUE GERM 


“But what is it?” I asked. “What have 
you got in the bag?” 

He stopped under a sizzling arc-lamp out- 
side the station. 

“The bag,” he said, touching the worn leather 
lovingly, “contains six tubes of the Sarakoff- 
Harden bacillus. Yes, I have added your 
name to it. I will make your name immortal 
— by coupling it with mine.” 

“But what is the Sarakoff -Harden bacillus?” 
I cried. 

He struck an attitude under the viperish 
glare of the lamp and smiled. He certainly 
did look like an anarchist at the moment. He 
loomed over me, huge, satanic, inscrutable. 

A thrill, almost of fear, passed over me. I 
glanced round in some apprehension. Under 
an archway near by I saw Lord Alberan look- 
ing fixedly at us. The expression of suspicion 
had returned to his face. 

“You mean ?” He nodded. I gulped 

a little. “You really have ?” He con- 

tinued to nod. “Then we can try the great 
experiment?” I whispered, dry throated. 

“At once !” The detective passed us, brush- 


THE SIX TUBES 37 

ing against my shoulder. I caught Sarakoff 
by the arm. 

‘‘Look here — we must get away,” I mut- 
tered. I felt like a criminal. Sarakoff 
clasped the bag firmly under his free arm. 
We began to walk hurriedly away. Our man- 
ner was furtive. Once I looked back and saw 
Alberan talking, with excited gestures, to the 
detective. They were both looking in our di- 
rection. The impulse to run possessed me. 
“ Quick,” I exclaimed, “there’s a taxi. Jump 
in. Drive to Harley Street — like the devil.” 

Inside the cab I lay back, my mind in a 
whirl. 

“We begin the experiment to-morrow,” said 
Sarakoff at last. “Have you made plans as I 
told you?” 

“Yes — yes. Of course. Only I never be- 
lieved it possible.” I controlled myself and 
sat up. “I fixed on Birmingham. It seemed 
best — but I never dreamed ” 

“Good!” he exclaimed. “Birmingham, 
then!” 

“Their water supply comes from Wales.” 

We spoke no more till I turned the key of 
my study door behind me. It was in this way 


THE BLUE GERM 


that the germ, which made so vast and strange 
an impression on the course of the world’s 
history, first reached England. It had lain 
under the very nose of Lord Alberan, who op- 
posed everything new automatically. Yet it, 
the newest of all things, escaped his vigilance. 

We decided to put our plans into action 
without delay, and next morning we set off, 
carrying with us the precious tubes of the 
Sarakoff -Harden bacillus. Throughout the 
long journey we scarcely spoke to each other. 
Each of us was absorbed in his picture of the 
future effects of the germ. 

There was one strange fact that Sarakoff 
had told me the night before, and that I had 
verified. The bacillus was ultra-microscopical 
— that is, it could not be seen, even with the 
highest power, under the microscope. Its 
presence was only to be detected by the blue 
stain it gave off during its growth. 


CHAPTER V 


THE GREAT AQUEDUCT 

T HE Birmingham reservoirs are a chain 
of lakes artificially produced by damming 
up the River Elan, a tributary of the Wye. 
The great aqueduct which carries the water 
from the Elan, eighty miles across country, 
travelling through hills and bridging valleys, 
runs past Ludlow and Cleobury Mortimer, 
through the Wyre Forest to Kidderminster, 
and on to Birmingham itself through Frank- 
ley, where there is a large storage reservoir 
from which the water is distributed. 

The scenery was bleak and desolate. Be- 
fore us the sun was sinking in a flood of crim- 
son light. We walked briskly, the long legs 
of the Russian carrying him swiftly over the 
uneven ground while I trotted beside him. 
Before the last rays of the sun had died away 
we saw the black outline of the Caban Loch 
dam before us, and caught the sheen of water 

39 


40 


THE BLUE GERM 


beyond. On the north lay the river Elan and 
on the south the steep side of a mountain 
towered up against the luminous sky. The 
road runs along the left bank of the river 
bounded by a series of bold and abrupt crags 
that rise to a height of some eight hundred feet 
above the level of the water. Just below the 
Caban Dam is a house occupied by an inspector 
in charge of the gauge apparatus that is used 
to measure the outflow of water from the huge 
natural reservoirs. The lights from his house 
twinkled through the growing darkness as we 
drew near, and we skirted it by a short detour 
and pressed on. 

“How long does water take to get from here 
to Birmingham?” asked Sarakoff as we climbed 
up to the edge of the first lake. 

“It travels about a couple of miles an hour,” 
I replied. “So that means about a day and a 
half.” 

We spoke in low voices, for we were afraid 
of detection. The presence of two visitors at 
that hour might well have attracted attention. 

“A day and a half! Then the bacillus has 
a long journey to take.” He stopped at the 
margin of the water and stared across the 


THE GREAT AQUEDUCT 41 

shadowy lake. ‘‘Yes, it has a long journey to 
take, for it will go round the whole world.” 

The last glow in the sky tinted the calm 
sheet of water a deep blood colour. Sarakoff 
opened his bag and took out a couple of tubes. 

He pulled the cotton-wool plugs out of 
the tubes and, with a long wire, loosened the 
gelatinous contents. Then, inverting the 
tubes he flung them into the lake close to the 
beginning of the huge aqueduct. 

I stared as the tubes vanished from sight, 
feeling that it was too late to regret what 
had now been done, for nothing could collect 
those millions of bacilli, that had been set 
free in the water. Already some of them 
had perhaps entered the dark cavernous mouth 
of the first culvert to start on their slow jour- 
ney to Birmingham. The light faded from the 
sky and darkness spread swiftly over the lake. 
Sarakoff emptied the remaining tubes calmly 
and then turned his footsteps in the direction 
of Rhayader. I waited a moment longer in 
the deep silence of that lonely spot; and then 
with a shiver followed my friend. The bacillus 
had been let loose on the world. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE ATTITUDE OF MR. THORNDUCK 

¥ It TE reached London next day in the af ter- 
V V noon. I felt exhausted and could 
scarcely answer Sarakoff, who had talked con- 
tinuously during the journey. 

But his theory had interested me. The 
Russian had revealed much of his character, 
under the stress of excitement. He spoke of 
the coming of Immortality in the light of a 
physical boon to mankind. He seemed to see 
in his mind’s eye a great picture of comfort and 
physical enjoyment and of a humanity released 
from the grim spectres of disease and death, 
and ceaselessly pursuing pleasure. 

“I love life,” he remarked. “I love fame 
and success. I love comfort, ease, laughter, 
and companionship. The whole of Nature is 
beautiful to me, and a beautiful woman is 
Nature’s best reward. Now that the dawn of 
Immortality is at hand, Harden, we must set 
about reorganizing the world so that it may 
yield the maximum of pleasure.” 

42 


ATTITUDE OF MR. THORNDUCK 43 


“But surely there will be some limit to 
pleasure?” I objected. 

“Why? Can’t you see that is just what 
there will not be?” he cried excitedly. “We 
are going to do away with the confining limits. 
Your imagination is too cramped! You sit 
there, huddled up in a corner, as if we had let 
loose a dreadful plague on Birmingham !” 

“It may prove to be so,” I muttered. I do 
not think I had any clear idea as to the future, 
but there is a natural machinery in the mind 
that doubts golden ages and universal pana- 
ceas. Call it superstition if you will, but 
man’s instinct tells him he cannot have uninter- 
rupted pleasure without paying for it. I said 
as much to the Russian. 

He gave vent to a roar of laughter. 

“You have all the caution and timidity of 
your race,” he said. “You are fearful even in 
your hour of deliverance. My friend, it is im- 
possible to conceive, even faintly, of the change 
that will come over us towards the meaning of 
life. Can’t you see that, as soon as the idea of 
Immortality gets hold of people, they will de- 
vote all their energies to making their earth a 
paradise? Why, it is obvious. They will 
then know that there is no other paradise.” 


44 


THE BLUE GERM 


He took out his watch and made a calcula- 
tion. His face became flushed. 

“The bacillus has travelled forty-two miles 
towards Birmingham,” he said, just as our 
train drew in to the London terminus. 

I was busy with patients until dinner-time 
and did not see anything of Sarakoff. While 
working, my exhaustion and anxiety wore off, 
and were replaced by a mild exhilaration. 
One of my patients was a professor of engi- 
neering at a northern university; a brilliant 
young man, who, but for physical disease, had 
the promise of a great career before him. He 
had been sent to me, after having made a round 
of the consultants, to see if I could give him 
any hope as to the future. I went into his case 
carefully, and then addressed him a question. 

“What is your own view of your case, Mr. 
Thornduck?” 

He looked surprised. His face relaxed, and 
he smiled. I suppose he detected a message of 
hope in my expression. 

“I have been told by half-a-dozen doctors 
that I have not long to live, Dr. Harden,” 
he replied. “But it is very difficult for me to 
grasp that view. I find that I behave as if 
nothing were the matter. I still go on work- 


ATTITUDE OF MR. THORNDUCK 45 

ing. I still see goals far ahead. Death is just 
a word — frequently uttered, it is true — but 
meaningless. What am I to do?” 

“Go on working.” 

“And am I to expect only a short lease of 
life?” 

I rose from my writing-table and walked to 
the hearth. A surge of power came over me 
as I thought of the bacillus which was so 
silently and steadily advancing on Birming- 
ham. 

“Do you believe in miracles?” I asked. 

“That is an odd question.” He reflected for 
a time. “No, I don’t think so. All one is 
taught now-a-days is in a contrary direction, 
isn’t it?” 

“Yes, but our knowledge only covers a very 
small field — perhaps an artificially isolated 
one, too.” 

“Then you think only a miracle will save my 
life?” 

I nodded and gazed at him. 

“You seem amused,” he remarked quietly. 

“I am not amused, Mr. Thornduck. I am 
very happy.” 

“Does my case interest you?” 

“Extremely. As a case, you are typical. 


46 


THE BLUE GERM 


Your malady is invariably fatal. It is only 
one of the many maladies that we know to be 
fatal, while we remain ignorant of all else. 
Under ordinary circumstances, you would 
have before you about three years of reasonable 
health and sanity.” 

“And then?” 

“Well, after that you would be somewhat 
helpless. You would begin to employ that 
large section of modern civilization that deals 
with the somewhat helpless.” 

I began to warm to my theme, and clasped 
my hands behind my back. 

“Yes, you would pass into that class that dis- 
proves all theories of a kindly Deity, and you 
would become an undergraduate in the vast 
and lamentable University of Suffering, 
through whose limitless corridors we medical 
men walk with weary footsteps. Ah, if only 
an intelligent group of scientists had had the 
construction of the human body to plan! 
Think what poor stuff it is ! Think how easy 
it would have been to make it more enduring! 
The cell — what a useless fragile delicacy! 
And we are made of millions of these useless 
fragile delicacies.” 

To my surprise he laughed with great amuse- 


ATTITUDE OF MR. THORNDUCK 47 


ment. He stood there, young, pleasant, and 
smiling. I stared at him with a curious uneasi- 
ness. For the moment I had forgotten w T hat it 
had been my intention to say. The dawn of 
Immortality passed out of my mind, and I 
found myself gazing, as it were, on something 
strangely mysterious. 

“Your religion helps you?” I hazarded. 

“Religion?” He mused for a moment. 
“Don’t you think there is some meaning be- 
hind our particular inevitable destinies — that 
we may perhaps have earned them?” 

“Nonsense! It is all the cruel caprice of 
Nature, and nothing else.” 

“Oh, come, Dr. Harden, you surely take a 
larger view. Do you think the short existence 
we have here is all the chance of activity we 
ever have ? That I have a glimpse of engineer- 
ing, and you have a short phase of doctoring 
on this planet, and that then we have finished 
all experience?” 

“Certainly. It would not be possible to 
take any other view — horrible.” 

“But you believe in some theory of evolution 
— of slow upward progress?” 

“Yes, of course. That is proved beyond all 
doubt.” 


48 


THE BLUE GERM 


“And yet you think it applies only to the 
body — to the instrument — and not to the im- 
material side of us?” 

I stared at him in astonishment. 

“I do not think there is any immaterial side, 
Mr. Thornduck.” 

He smiled. 

“A very unsatisfying view, surely?” he re- 
marked. 

“Unsatisfying, perhaps, but sound science,” 
I retorted. 

“Sound?” He pondered for an instant. 
“Can a thing be sound and unsatisfying at 
the same time? When I see a machine that’s 
ugly — that’s unsatisfying from the artist’s 
point of view — I always know it’s wrongly 
planned and inefficient. Don’t you think it’s 
the same with theories of life?” He took out 
his watch and glanced at it. “But I must not 
keep you. Good-bye, Dr. Harden.” 

He went to the door, nodded, and left the 
room before I recalled that I meant to hint to 
him that a miracle was going to happen, and 
save his life. I remained on the hearth-rug, 
wondering what on earth he meant. 


CHAPTER VII 


LEONORA 

I FOUND a note in the hall from Sarakoff 
asking me to come round to the Pyramid 
Restaurant at eight o’clock to meet a friend of 
his. It was a crisp clear evening, and I de- 
cided to walk. There were two problems on 
my mind. One was the outlook of Sarakoff, 
which even I deemed to be too materialistic. 
The other was the attitude of young Thorn- 
duck, which was obviously absurd. 

In my top hat and solemn frock-coat I paced 
slowly down Harley Street. 

Thornduck talked as if suffering, as if all 
that side of existence which the Blue Germ 
was to do away with, were necessary and 
salutary. Sarakoff spoke as if pleasure was 
the only aim of life. Now, though sheer phy- 
sical pleasure had never entered very deeply 
into my life, I had never denied the fact that it 
was the only motive of the majority of my 
patients. For what was all our research for? 

49 


50 


THE BLUE GERM 


Simply to mitigate suffering; and that is an- 
other way of saying that it was to increase 
physical well-being. Why, then, did Sara- 
koff’s views appear extreme to me? What 
was there in my composition that whispered a 
doubt when I had the doctrine of maximum 
pleasure painted with glowing enthusiasm by 
the Russian in the train that afternoon? 

I moved into Oxford Street deeply ponder- 
ing. The streets were crowded, and from shop 
windows there streamed great wedges of white 
and yellow light. The roar of traffic was 
round me. The ’buses were packed with men 
and women returning late from business, or on 
the way to seek relaxation in the city’s amuse- 
ments. I passed through the throng as 
through a coloured mist of phantoms. My 
eyes fastened on the faces of those who passed 
by. Who could really doubt the doctrine of 
pleasure? Which one of those people would 
hesitate to plunge into the full tide of the 
senses, did not the limitations of the body pre- 
vent him? 

I crossed Piccadilly Circus with a brisker 
step. It was no use worrying over questions 
which could not be examined scientifically. 


LEONORA 


51 


The only really important question in life was 
to be a success. 

The brilliant entrance of the Pyramid Rest- 
aurant was before me, and within, standing on 
the marble floor, I saw the tall figure of the 
Russian. 

Sarakoff greeted me with enthusiasm. He 
was wearing evening-dress with a white waist- 
coat, and the fact perturbed me. I put my hat 
and stick in the cloakroom. 

“Who is coming?” I asked anxiously. 

“Leonora,” he whispered. “I only found 
out she was in London this afternoon. I met 
her when I was strolling in the Park while you 
were busy with your patients.” 

“But who is Leonora?” I asked. “And 
can I meet her in this state?” 

“Oh, never mind about your dress. You 
are a busy doctor and she will understand. 
Leonora is the most marvellous woman in the 
world. I intend to make her marry me.” 

“Is she English?” I stammered. 

He laughed. 

“Little man, you look terrified, as usual. 
You are always terrified. It is your habit. 
No, Leonora is not English. She is Euro- 


52 


THE BLUE GERM 


pean. If you went out into the world of 
amusement a little more — and it would be good 
for you — you would know that she has the 
most exquisite voice in the history of civiliza- 
tion. She transcends the nightingale because 
her body is beautiful. She transcends the pea- 
cock because her voice is beautiful. She is, in 
fact, worthy of every homage, and you w T ill 
meet her in a short time. Like all perfect 
things she is late.” 

He took out his watch and glanced at the 
door. 

“You are an extraordinary person, Sara- 
koff,” I observed, after watching him a mo- 
ment. “Will you answer me a rather intimate 
question?” 

“Certainly.” 

“What precisely do you mean when you 
say you intend to make the charming lady 
marry you?” 

“Precisely what I say. She loves fame. 
So far I have been unsuccessful, because she 
does not think I am famous enough.” 

“How do you intend to remedy that?” 

He stared at me in amazement. 

“Do you think that any people have ever 


LEONORA 


53 


been so famous as you and I will be in a few 
days ?” 

I looked away and studied the bright throng 
of visitors in the hall. 

“In a few days?” I asked. “Are you not a 
trifle optimistic? Don’t you think that it will 
take months before the possibilities and mean- 
ing of the germ are properly realized?” 

“Rubbish,” exclaimed Sarakoff. “You are 
a confirmed pessimist. You are impossible, 
Harden. You are a mass of doubts and ap- 
prehensions. Ah, here is Leonora at last. Is 
she not marvellous?” 

I looked towards the entrance. I saw a 
woman of medium height, very fair, dressed 
in some soft clinging material of a pale prim- 
rose colour. F rom a shoulder hung a red satin 
cloak. Round her neck was a string of large 
pearls, and in her hair was a jewelled osprey. 
She presented a striking appearance and I 
gained the impression of some northern spirit 
in her that shone out of her eyes with the bril- 
liancy of ice. 

Sarakoff strode forward, and the contrast 
that these two afforded was extraordinary. 
Tall, dark, warm and animated, he stood be- 


54 


THE BLUE GERM 


side her, and stooped to kiss her hand. She 
gazed at him with a smile so slight that it 
seemed scarcely to disturb the perfect sym- 
metry of her face. He began to talk, moving 
his whole body constantly and making gestures 
with his arms, with a play of different expres- 
sions in his face. She listened without mov- 
ing, save that her eyes wandered slowly round 
the large hall. At length Sarakoff beckoned 
to me. 

I approached somewhat awkwardly and was 
introduced. 

“Leonora,” said the Russian, “this is a little 
English doctor with a very large brain. He 
was closely connected with the great discovery 
of which I am going to tell you something to- 
night at dinner. He is my friend and his 
name is Richard Harden.” 

“I like your name,” said Leonora, in a clear 
soft voice. 

I took her hand. We passed into the restau- 
rant. It was one of those vast pleasure-pal- 
aces of music, scent, colour and food that 
abounded in London. An orchestra was play- 
ing somewhere high aloft. The luxury of 
these establishments was always sounding a 


LEONORA 


55 


curious warning deep down in my mind. But 
then, as Sarakoff had said, I am a pessimist, 
and if I were to say that I have noticed that 
nature often becomes very prodigal and lavish 
just before she takes away and destroys, I 
would be uttering, perhaps, one of the many 
half-truths in which the pessimistic spirit de- 
lights. 

Our table was in a corner at an agreeable 
distance from the orchestra. Sarakoff placed 
Leonora between him and myself. Attentive 
waiters hurried to serve us; and the eyes of 
everyone in our immediate neighbourhood were 
turned in our direction. Leonora did not ap- 
pear to be affected by the interest she aroused. 
She flung her cloak on the back of her chair, 
put her elbows on the table, and gazed at the 
Russian intently. 

“Tell me of your discovery, Alexis.” 

He smiled, enchanted. 

“I shall be best able to give you some idea 
of what our discovery means if I begin by 
telling you that I am going to read your char- 
acter. Does that interest you?” 

She nodded. Then she turned to me and 
studied me for a moment. 


56 


THE BLUE GERM 


“No, Alexis. Let Richard read my char- 
acter first.” 

I blushed successfully. 

“Why do you blush?” she asked with some 
interest. 

“He blushed because of your unpardonable 
familiarity in calling him Richard,” laughed 
Sarakoff. 

“I shall be most happy, Leonora,” I stam- 
mered, making an immense effort, and longing 
for the waiter to bring the champagne. “But 
I am not good at the art.” 

“But you must try.” 

I saw no way out of the predicament. 
Sarakoff’s eyes were twinkling roguishly, so I 
began, keeping my gaze on the table. 

“You have a well-controlled character, with 
a considerable power of knowing exactly what 
you want to do with your life, and you come 
from the North. I fancy you sleep badly.” 

“How do you know I sleep badly?” she 
challenged. 

“Your eyes are a clear frosty blue, and 
you are of rather slight build. I am merely 
speaking from my own experience as a doctor.” 

I suppose my words were not particularly 


LEONORA 


57 


gracious or well-spoken. Leonora simply 
nodded and leaned back from the table. 

“Now, Alexis, tell me about myself,” she 
said. 

My glass now contained champagne and I 
decided to allow that wizard to take charge of 
my affairs for a time. 

“Leonora, you are one of those women who 
visit this dull planet from time to time for 
reasons best known to themselves. I think 
you must come from Venus, or one of the 
asteroids; or it may be from Sirius. From the 
beginning you knew you were not like ordinary 
people.” 

“Alexis,” she drawled, “you are boring me.” 

“Capital!” said Sarakoff. “Now we will 
descend to facts, as our friend here did. You 
are the most inordinately vain, ambitious, cold- 
hearted woman in Europe, Leonora. You 
value yourself before everything. You think 
your voice and your beauty cannot be beaten, 
and you are right. Now if I were to tell you 
that your voice and your beauty could be pre- 
served, year after year, without any change, 
what would you think?” 

A kind of fierce vitality sprang into her face. 


58 


THE BLUE GERM 


“What do you mean?” she asked quietly. 
“Have you discovered the elixir of youth?” 

He nodded. She laid her hand on his arm. 

“How long does its effect last?” 

“Well — for a considerable time.” 

“You are certain?” 

“Absolutely.” 

She leaned towards him. 

“You will let no one else have it, Alexis,” 
she asked softly. “Only me?” 

Sarakoff glanced at me. 

“Leonora, you are very selfish.” 

“Of course.” 

“Well, you are not the only person who is 
going to have the elixir. The whole world is 
going to have it.” 

I watched her with absorbed attention. She 
seemed to accept the idea of an elixir of youth 
without any incredulity, and did not find any- 
thing extraordinary in the fact of its discovery. 
In that respect, I fancied, she was typical of a 
large class of women — that class that thinks a 
doctor is a magician, or should be. But when 
Sarakoff said that the whole world was going 
to have the elixir, a spasm of anger shewed for 
a moment in her face. She lowered her eyes. 


LEONORA 


59 


“This is unkind of you, Alexis. Why 
should not just you and I have the elixir ?” 
She raised her eyes and turned them directly 
on Sarakoff. “Why not?” she murmured. 

The Russian flushed slightly. 

“Leonora, it must either not be, or else the 
whole world must have it. It can’t be con- 
fined. It must spread. It’s a germ. We 
have let it loose in Birmingham.” 

She shuddered. 

“A germ? What does he mean?” She 
turned to me. 

“It’s a germ that will do away with all dis- 
ease and decay,” I said. 

“It will make me younger?” 

“Of that I am uncertain. It will more 
probably fix us where we are.” 

The Russian nodded in confirmation of my 
view. Leonora considered for a while. I 
could see nothing in her appearance that she 
could have wished altered, but she seemed dis- 
satisfied. 

“I should have preferred it to make us all a 
little younger,” she said decidedly. Her total 
lack of the sense of miracles astonished me. 
She behaved as if Sarakoff had told her that 


60 


THE BLUE GERM 


we had discovered a new kind of soap or a new 
patent food. “But I am glad you have found 
it, Alexis,” she continued. “It will certainly 
make you famous. That will be nice, but I am 
sorry you should have given the elixir to Bir- 
mingham first. Birmingham is in no need of 
an elixir, my friend. You should have put 
something else in their water-supply.” She 
turned to me and examined me with calm criti- 
cism. “What a pity you didn’t discover the 
elixir when you were younger, Richard. Your 
hair is grey at the temples.” A clear laugh 
suddenly came from her. “What a lot of 
jealousy there will be, Alexis. The old ones 
will be so envious of the young. Think how 
Madame Reaour will rage — and Betty, and the 
Signora — all my friends — oh, I feel quite glad 
now that it doesn’t make people younger. 
You are sure it won’t?” 

“I don’t think so,” said Sarakoff, watching 
her through half-closed lids. “No, I think 
you are safe, Leonora.” 

“And my voice?” 

“It will preserve that . . . indefinitelv, I 
think.” 

She was arrested by the new idea. She 


LEONORA 


61 


looked into the distance and fingered the pearls 
at her throat. 

“Then I shall become the most famous 
singer in the whole world,” she murmured. 
“And I shall have all the money I want. My 
friend, you have done me a service. I will not 
forget it.” She looked at him and laughed 
slightly. “But I do not think you have done 
the world a service. A great many people 
will not like the germ. No, they will desire 
to get rid of it, Alexis.” 

She shuddered a little. I stared at her. 

“I think you are mistaken,” said Alexis, 
gruffly. 

She shook her head. 

“Come, let us finish dinner quickly and I 
will take you both to my flat and sing to you 
a little.” 

Leonora’s flat was in Whitehall Court, and 
of its luxury I need not speak. I must confess 
to the fact that, sober and timid as is my na- 
ture, I thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere. 
Leonora was generous. Her voice was ex- 
quisite. I sat on a deep couch of green satin 
and gazed at a Chinese idol cut in green jade, 
that stood on a neighbouring table, with all my 


62 


THE BLUE GERM 


senses lulled by the charm of her singing. 'The 
sense of responsibility fell away from me like 
severed cords. I became pagan as I lolled 
there, a creature of sensuous feeling. Sara- 
koff lay back in a deep chair in the shadow with 
his eyes fixed on Leonora. We were both in a 
kind of delicious drowsiness when the opening 
of the door roused us. 

Leonora stopped abruptly. With some 
difficulty I removed my gaze from the Chinese 
figure, which had hypnotized me, and looked 
round resentfully. 

Lord Alberan was standing in the doorway. 
He seemed surprised to find that Leonora had 
visitors. I could not help marking a slight air 
of proprietorship in his manner. 

“I am afraid I am interrupting,” he said 
smoothly. He crossed to the piano and leant 
over Leonora. “You got my telegram?” 

“No,” she replied; “I did not even know 
you had returned from France.” 

“I came the day before yesterday. I had to 
go down to Maltby Towers. I came up to 
town to-day and wired you on the way.” 

He straightened himself and turned towards 


LEONORA 63 

us. Leonora rose and came down the room. 
We rose. 

“Geoffrey,” she said, drawling slightly, “I 
want to introduce you to two friends of mine. 
They will soon be very famous — more famous 
than you are — because they have discovered a 
germ that is going to keep us all young.” 

Lord Alberan glanced at me and then looked 
hard at the Russian. A swiftly passing sur- 
prise shewed that he recognized Sarakoff. 
Leonora mentioned our names casually, took 
up a cigarette and dropped into a chair. 

“Yes,” she continued, “these gentlemen 
have put the germ into the water that supplies 
Birmingham.” She struck a match and lit the 
cigarette. I noticed she actually smoked very 
little, but seemed to like to watch the burning 
cigarette. “Do sit down. What are you 
standing for, Geoffrey?” 

Lord Alberan’s attitude relaxed. He had 
evidently decided on his course of action. 

“That is very interesting,” he observed, as 
if he had never seen Sarakoff before. “A 
germ that is going to keep us all young. It 
reminds me of the Arabian Nights. I should 
like to see it.” 


64 


THE BLUE GERM 


“You’ve seen it already,” replied Sarakoff, 
imperturbably. 

Lord Alberan’s cold eyes looked steadily be- 
fore him. His mouth tightened. 

“Really?” 

“You saw it at Charing Cross Station the 
night before last.” 

“At Charing Cross Station?” 

I tried to signal to the Russian, but he 
seemed determined to proceed. 

“Yes — you thought I was an anarchist. 
You saw the contents of my bag. Six tubes 
containing a blue-coloured gelatine. Per- 
haps, Lord Alberan, you remember now.” 

“I remember perfectly,” he exclaimed, smil- 
ing slightly. “Yes, I regret my mistake. 
One has to be careful.” 

“Did you think my Alexis was an anar- 
chist?” cried Leonora. “You are the stupidest 
of Englishmen.” 

It was obvious that Alberan did not like this. 
He glanced at a thin gold watch that he carried 
in his waistcoat pocket. 

“I will not interrupt you any longer,” he 
remarked gravely. “You are quite occupied, 
I see, and I must apologize for intruding.” 


LEONORA 


65 


“Don’t be still more stupid,” she said lazily. 
“Sit down. Tell me how you like the idea 
of never dying.” 

“I am afraid I cannot entertain the idea 
seriously.” He hesitated and then looked 
firmly at Sarakoff. “Do I understand, sir, 
that you have actually put some germ into the 
Birmingham water-supply?” 

The Russian nodded. 

“You’ll hear about it in a day or two,” he 
said quietly. 

“You had permission to do this?” 

“No, I had no permission.” 

“Are you aware that you are making a very 
extraordinary statement, sir?” 

“Perfectly.” 

Lord Alberan became very red. The lower 
part of his face seemed to expand. His eyes 
protruded. 

“Don’t gobble,” said Leonora. 

“Gobble?” stuttered Alberan, turning upon 
her. “How dare you say I gobble?” 

“But you are gobbling.” 

“I refuse to stay here another moment. I 
will leave immediately. As for you, sir, you 
shall hear from me in course of time. To- 


66 


THE BLUE GERM 


morrow I am compelled to go abroad again, 
but when I return I shall institute a vigorous 
and detailed enquiry into your movements, 
which are highly suspicious, sir, — highly sus- 
picious.” He moved to the door and then 
turned. “Mademoiselle, I wish you good- 
night.” He bowed stiffly and went out. 

“Thank heaven, I’ve got rid of him for 
good,” murmured Leonora. “He proposed 
to me last week, Alexis.” 

“And what did you say?” asked Sarakoff. 

“I said I would see, but things are different 
now.” She turned her eyes straight in his 
direction. “That is, if you have told me the 
truth, Alexis. Oh, isn’t it wonderful!” She 
jumped up and threw out her arms. “Sup- 
pose that it all comes true, Alexis! Immor- 
tality — always to be young and beautiful!” 

“It will come true,” he said. 

She lowered her arms slowly and looked at 
him. 

“I wonder how long love will last?” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE BLUE DISEASE 

N EXT day the first news of the Sarakoff- 
Harden bacillus appeared in a small 
paragraph in an evening paper, and immedi- 
ately I saw it, I hurried back to the house in 
Harley Street where Sarakoff was writing a 
record of our researches. 

“Listen to this,” I cried, bursting excitedly 
into the room. I laid the paper on the table 
and pointed to the column. “Curious disease 
among trout in Wales,” I read. “In the 
Elan reservoirs which have long been famed for 
their magnificent trout, which have recently in- 
creased so enormously in size and number that 
artificial stocking is entirely unnecessary, a 
curious disease has made its appearance. Fish 
caught there this morning are reported to have 
an unnatural bluish tint, and their flesh, when 
cooked, retains this hue. It is thought that 
some disease has broken out. Against this 
67 


68 


THE BLUE GERM 


theory is the fact that no dead fish have been 
observed. The Water Committee of the City 
Council of Birmingham are investigating this 
matter.” 

Sarakoff pushed his chair back and twisted it 
round towards me. For some moments we 
stared at each other with almost scared ex- 
pressions. Then a smile passed over the Rus- 
sian’s face. 

“Ah, we had forgotten that. A bluish tint! 
Of course, it was to be expected.” 

“Yes,” I cried, “and what is more, the bluish 
tint will show itself in every man, woman or 
child infected with the bacillus. Good heav- 
ens, fancy not thinking of that ourselves!” 

Sarakoff picked up the paper and read the 
paragraph for himself. Then he laid it down. 
“It is strange that one so persistently neglects 
the obvious in one’s calculations. Of course 
there will be a bluish tint.” He leaned back 
and pulled at his beard. “I should think it will 
show itself in the whites of the eyes first, just 
as jaundice shews itself there. Leonora won’t 
like that — it won’t suit her colouring. You 
see that these fish, when cooked, retained the 
bluish hue. That is very interesting.” 


69 


THE BLUE DISEASE 

“It’s very bad luck on the trout.” 

“Why?”" 

“After getting the bacillus into their system, 
they blunder on to a hook and meet their death 
straight away.” 

“The bacillus is not proof against death by 
violence,” replied Sarakoff gravely. “That is 
a factor that will always remain constant. We 
are agreed in looking on all disease as event- 
ually due to poisons derived from germ activ- 
ity, but a bang on the head or asphyxiation or 
prussic acid or a bullet in the heart are not 
due to a germ. Yes, these poor trout little 
knew what a future they forfeited when they 
took the bait.” 

“The bacillus is in Birmingham by now,” 
I said suddenly. I passed my hand across my 
brow nervously, and glanced at the manuscript 
lying before Sarakoff. “You had better keep 
those papers locked up. I spent an awful day 
at the hospital. It dawned on me that the 
whole medical profession will want to tear us 
in pieces before the year is out.” 

“In theory they ought not to.” 

“Who cares for theory, when it is a question 
of earning a living? As I walked along the 


70 


THE BLUE GERM 


street to-day, I could have shrieked aloud when 
I saw everybody hurrying about as if nothing 
were going to happen. This is unnerving me. 
It is so tremendous.” 

Sarakoff picked up his pen, and traced out a 
pattern in the blotting-pad before him. 

“The Water Committee of Birmingham are 
investigating the matter,” he observed. “It 
will be amusing to hear their report. What 
will they think when they make a bacteriolog- 
ical examination of the water in the reservoir? 
It will stagger them.” 

The next morning I was down to breakfast 
before my friend and stood before the fire 
eagerly scanning the papers. At first I could 
find nothing that seemed to indicate any fur- 
ther effects of the bacillus. I was in the act of 
buttering a piece of toast when my eye fell on 
one of the newspapers lying beside me. A 
heading in small type caught my eye. 

“The measles epidemic in Ludlow " I 
picked the paper up. 

“The severe epidemic of measles which be- 
gan last week and seemed likely to spread 
through the entire town, has mysteriously 
abated. Not only are no further cases re- 


THE BLUE DISEASE 


71 


ported, but several doctors report that those 
already attacked have recovered in an incredi- 
bly short space of time. Doubt has been ex- 
pressed by the municipal authorities as to 
whether the epidemic was really measles.” 

I adjusted my glasses to read the paragraph 
again. Then I got up and went into my study. 
After rummaging in a drawer I pulled out and 
unrolled a map of England. The course of 
the aqueduct from Elan to Birmingham was 
marked by a thin red line. I followed it slowly 
with the point of my finger and came on the 
town of Ludlow about half-way along. I 
stared at it. 

“Of course,” I whispered at length, my 
finger still resting on the position of the town. 
“All these towns on the way are supplied by 
the aqueduct. I hadn’t thought of that. The 
bacillus is in Ludlow.” 

For about a minute I did not move. Then 
I rolled up the map and went up to Sarakoff’s 
bedroom. I met the Russian on the landing 
on his way to the bathroom. 

“The bacillus is in Ludlow,” I said in a curi- 
ously small voice. I stood on the top stair, 
holding on to the banister, my big glasses 


72 


THE BLUE GERM 


aslant on my nose, and the map hanging down 
in my limp grasp. 

I had to repeat the sentence before Sarakoff 
heard me. 

“Where’s Ludlow?” 

I sank on my knees and unrolled the map on 
the floor and pointed directly with my finger. 

Sarakoff went down on all fours and looked 
at the spot keenly. 

“Ah, on the line of the aqueduct! But how 
do you know it is there?” 

“It has cut short an epidemic of measles. 
The doctors are puzzled.” 

Sarakoff nodded. He was looking at the 
names of the other towns that lay on the course 
of the aqueduct. 

“Cleobury-Mortimer,” he spelt out. “No 
news from there?” 

“None.” 

“Amd none from Birmingham yet?” 

“None.” 

“We’ll have news to-morrow.” He raised 
himself on his knees. “Trout and then meas- 
les!” he said, and laughed. “This is only the 
beginning. No wonder the Ludlow doctors 
are puzzled.” 


THE BLUE DISEASE 


73 


The same evening there was further news of 
the progress of the bacillus. From Cleobury- 
Mor timer, ten miles from Ludlow, and twenty 
from Birmingham, it was reported that the 
measles epidemic there had been cut short in 
the same mysterious manner as noticed in Lud- 
low. But next morning a paragraph of con- 
siderable length appeared which I read out 
in a trembling voice to Sarakoff. 

“It was reported a short time ago that the 
trout in the Elan reservoirs appeared to be 
suffering from a singular disease, the effect 
of which was to tint their scales and flesh a 
delicate bluish colour. The matter is being in- 
vestigated. In the meanwhile it has been 
noticed, both in Ludlow and Cleobury-Mor- 
timer, and also in Knighton, that the peculiar 
bluish tint has appeared amongst the inhabit- 
ants. Our correspondent states that it is most 
marked in the conjunctivas, or whites of the 
eyes. There must undoubtedly be some con- 
nection between this phenomenon and the con- 
dition of the trout in the Elan reservoirs, as 
all the above-mentioned towns lie close to, and 
receive water from, the great aqueduct. The 
most remarkable thing, however, is that the 


74 


THE BLUE GERM 


bluish discolouration does not seem to be ac- 
companied by any symptoms of illness in those 
whom it has affected. No sickness or fever has 
been observed. It is perhaps nothing more 
than a curious coincidence that the abrupt ces- 
sation of the measles epidemic in Ludlow and 
Cleobury-Mortimer, reported in yesterday’s is- 
sue, should have occurred simultaneously with 
the appearance of bluish discolouration among 
the inhabitants.” 

On the same evening, I was returning from 
the hospital and saw the following words on a 
poster : — 

“Blue Disease in Birmingham.” 

I bought a paper and scanned the columns 
rapidly. In the stop-press news I read : — 

“The Blue Disease has appeared in Birming- 
ham. Cases are reported all over the city. 
The Public Health Department are consider- 
ing what measures should be adopted. The 
disease seems to be unaccompanied by any 
dangerous symptoms.” 

I stood stock-still in the middle of the pave- 
ment. A steady stream of people hurrying 
from business thronged past me. A news- 
paper boy was shouting something down the 


THE BLUE DISEASE 75 

street, and as he drew nearer, I heard his 
hoarse voice bawling out: — 

“Blue Disease in Birmingham.” 

He passed close to me, still bawling, and 
his voice died away in the distance. Men jos- 
tled me and glanced at me angrily. . . . But 
I was lost in a dream. The paper dropped 
from my fingers. In my mind’s eye I saw the 
Sarakoff-Harden bacillus in Birmingham, 
teeming in every water-pipe in countless bil- 
lions, swarming in the carafes on dining-room 
tables, and in every ewer and finger-basin, in- 
fecting everything it came in contact with. 
And the vision of Birmingham and the whole 
stretch of country up to the Elan watershed 
passed before me, stained with a vivid blue. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE MAN FROM BIRMINGHAM 
HE following day while walking to the 



JL hospital, I noticed a group of people 
down a side street, apparently looking intently 
at something unusual. I turned aside to see 
what it was. About twenty persons, mostly 
errand boys, were standing round a sandwich- 
board man. At the outskirts of the circle, I 
raised myself on tip-toe and peered over the 
heads of those in front. The sandwich-board 
man’s back was towards me. 

What’s the matter?” I asked of my neigh- 
bour. 

“One of the blue freaks from Birmingham,” 
was the reply. 

My first impulse was to fly. Here I was in 
close proximity to my handiwork. I turned 
and made off a few paces. But curiosity over- 
mastered me, and I came back. The man was 
now facing me, and I could see him distinctly 
through a gap in the crowd. It was a thin, 


76 


THE MAN FROM BIRMINGHAM 77 


unshaven face with straightened features and 
gaunt cheeks. The eyes were deeply sunken 
and at that moment turned downwards. His 
complexion was pale, but I could see a faint 
bluish tinge suffusing the skin, that gave it a 
strange, dead look. And then the man lifted 
his eyes and gazed straight at me. I caught 
my breath, for under the black eye brows, the 
whites of the eyes were stained a pure sparrow- 
egg blue. 

“I came from Birmingham yesterday,” I 
heard him saying. “There ain’t nothing the 
matter with me.” 

“You ought to go to a fever hospital,” said 
someone. 

“We don’t want that blue stuff in London,” 
added another. 

“Perhaps it’s catching,” said the first 
speaker. 

In a flash everyone had drawn back. The 
sandwich-board man stood in the centre of the 
road alone looking sharply round him. Sud- 
denly a wave of rage seemed to possess him. 
He shook his fist in the air, and even as he 
shook it, his eyes caught the blue sheen of the 
tense skin over the knuckles. He stopped, 


78 


THE BLUE GERM 


staring stupidly, and the rage passed from his 
face, leaving it blank and incredulous. 

“Lor’ lumme,” he muttered. “If that ain’t 
queer.” 

He held out his hand, palm downwards. 
And from the pavement I saw that the man’s 
nails were as blue as pieces of turquoise. 

The sun came out from behind a passing 
cloud and sent a sudden flame of radiance over 
the scene in the side street — the sandwich-board 
man, his face still blank and incredulous, star- 
ing stupidly at his hands; the crowd standing 
well back in a wide semi-circle; I further for- 
ward, peering through my spectacles and 
clutching my umbrella convulsively. Then a 
tall man, in morning coat and top-hat, pushed 
his way through and touched the man from 
Birmingham on the shoulder. 

“Can you come to my house?” he asked in 
an undertone. “I am a doctor and would like 
to examine you.” 

I shifted my gaze and recognized Dr. 
Symington-Tearle. The man pointed to his 
boards. 

“How about them things?” 

“Oh, you can get rid of them. I’ll pay you. 


THE MAN FROM BIRMINGHAM 79 

Here is my card with the address. I’ll expect 
you in half-an-hour, and it will be well worth 
while your coming.” 

Symington-Tearle moved away, and a sud- 
den spasm of jealousy affected me as I watched 
the well-shaped top -hat glittering down the 
street in the strong sunlight. Why should 
Symington-Tearle be given an opportunity of 
impressing a credulous world with some fan- 
tastic rubbish of his own devising? I stepped 
into the road. 

“Do you want a five-pound note?” I asked. 
The man jumped with surprise. “Very well. 
Come round to this address at once.” 

I handed him my card. My next move was 
to telephone* to the hospital to say I would be 
late, and retrace my footsteps homewards. 

My visitor*arrived in a very short time, after 
handing over his boards to a comrade on the 
understanding of suitable compensation, and 
was shown into my study. Sarakoff was 
present, and he pored over the man’s nails and 
eyes and skin with rapt attention. At last he 
enquired how he felt. 

“Ain’t never felt so well in me life,” said the 


80 


THE BLUE GERM 


man. “I was saying to a pal this morning ’ow 
well I felt.” 

“Do you feel as if you were drunk?” asked 
Sarakoff tentatively. 

“Well, sir, now you put it that way, I feel 
as if I’d ’ad a good glass of beer. Not drunk, 
but ’appy.” 

“Are you naturally cheerful?” 

“I carn’t say as I am, sir. My profession 
ain’t a very cheery one, not in all sorts and 
kinds* of weather.” 

“But you are distinctly more cheerful this 
morning than usual?” 

“I am, sir. I don’t deny it. I lost my 
temper sudden like when that crowd drew away 
from me as if I’d got the leprosy, and I’m 
usually a mild and forbearin’ man.” 

“Sit down,” said Sarakoff. The man 
obeyed, and Sarakoff began to examine him 
carefully. He told him once or twice not to 
speak, but the man seemed in a loquacious 
mood and was incapable of silence for more 
than a minute of time. 

“And I ain’t felt so clear ’eaded not for 
years,” he remarked. “I seem to see twice as 
many things to what I used to, and everything 


THE MAN FROM BIRMINGHAM 81 

seems to ’ave a new coat of paint. I was 
saying to a pal early this morning what a very 
tine place Trafalgar Square was and ’ow I’d 
never seemed to notice it before, though I’ve 
known it all my life. And up Regent Street 
I begun to notice all sort o’ little things I’d 
never seen before, though it was my old beat 
’afore I went to Birmingham. O’ course it 
may be because I been out o’ London a spell. 
But blest if I ever seed so many fine shop win- 
dows in Regent Street before, or so many dif- 
ferent colours.” 

“Headache?” 

“Bless you, no, sir. Just the opposite, if 
you understand.” He looked round suddenly. 
“What’s that noise?” he asked. “It’s been 
worryin’ me since I came in here.” 

We listened intently, but neither I nor Sara- 
koff could hear anything. 

“It comes from there.” The man pointed 
to the laboratory door. I went and opened 
it and stood listening. In a corner by the 
window a clock-work recording barometer was 
ticking with a faint rhythm. 

“That’s the noise,” said the man from 


82 


THE BLUE GERM 


Birmingham. “I knew it wasn’t no clock, 
’cause it’s too fast.” 

Sarakoff glanced significantly at me. 

“All the senses very acute,” he said. “At 
least, hearing and seeing.” He took a bottle 
from the laboratory and uncorked it in one 
corner of the study. “Can you smell what 
this is?” 

The man, sitting ten feet away, gave one 
sniff. 

“Ammonia,” he said promptly, and sneezed. 
“This ’ere Blue Disease,” said the man after 
a long pause, “is it dangerous?” 

He spread out his fingers, squeezing the 
turquoise nails to see if the colour faded. He 
frowned to find it fixed. I was standing at the 
window, my back to the room and my hands 
twisting nervously with each other behind me. 

“No, it is not dangerous,” said Sarakoff. 
He sat on the edge of the writing-table, swing- 
ing his legs and staring meditatively at the 
floor. “It is not dangerous, is it, Harden?” 

I replied only with a jerky, impatient move- 
ment. 

“What I mean,” persisted the man, “is this 
— supposin’ the police arrest me, when I go 


THE MAN FROM BIRMINGHAM 83 


back to my job. ’Ave they a right? ’Ave 
people a right to give me the shove — to put 
me in a ’orspital? That crowd round me in 
the street — it confused me, like — as if I was 
a leper.” He paused and looked up at 
Sarakoff enquiringly. “What’s the cause of 
it?” 

“A germ — a bacillus.” 

“Same as what gives consumption?” 

Sarakoff nodded. “But this germ is harm- 
less,” he added. 

“Then I ain’t going to die?” 

“No. That’s just the point. You aren’t 
going to die,” said the Russian slowly. 
“That’s what is so strange.” 

I jumped round from the window. 

“How do you know?” I said fiercely. 
“There’s no proof. It’s all theory so far. 
The calculations may be wrong.” 

The man stared at me wonderingly. He 
saw me as a man fighting with some strange 
anxiety, with his forehead damp and shining, 
his spectacles aslant on his nose and the heavy 
folds of his frock-coat shaken with a sudden 
impetuosity. 

“How do you know?” I repeated, shaking 


8 4t 


THE BLUE GERM 


my fist in the air. “How do you know he 
isn’t going to die?” 

Sarakoff fingered his beard in silence, but 
his eyes shone with a quiet certainty. To the 
man from Birmingham it must have seemed 
suddenly strange that we should behave in this 
manner. His mind was sharpened to perceive 
things. Yesterday, had he been present at a 
similar scene, he would probably have sat dully, 
finding nothing curious in my passionate atti- 
tude and the calm, almost insolent inscrutabil- 
ity of Sarakoff. He forgot his turquoise 
finger nails, and stared, open-mouthed. 

“Ain’t going to die?” he said. “What do 
yer mean?” 

“Simply that you aren’t going to die,” was 
Sarakoff’s soft answer. 

“Yer mean, not die of the Blue Disease?” 

“Not die at all.” 

“Garn! Not die at all.” He looked at me. 
“What’s he mean, Mister?” He looked al- 
most surprised with himself at catching the 
drift of Sarakoff’s sentence. Inwardly he felt 
something insistent and imperious, forcing him 
to grasp words, to blunder into new meanings. 
Some new force was alive in him and he was 


THE MAN FROM BIRMINGHAM 85 


carried on by it in spite of himself. He felt 
strung up to a pitch of nervous irritation. He 
got up from his chair and came forward, point- 
ing at Sarakoff. “What’s this?” he demanded. 
“Why don’t you speak out? Yer cawn’t hide 
it from me.” He stopped. His brain, work- 
ing at unwonted speed, had discovered a fresh 
suspicion. “Look ’ere, you two know some- 
thing about this blue disease.” He came a 
step closer, and looking cunningly in my face, 
said: “That’s why you offered me a five- 
pound note, ain’t it?” 

I avoided the scrutiny of the sparrow-egg 
blue orbs close before me. 

“I offered you the money because I wished 
to examine you,” I said shortly. “Here it is. 
You can go now.” 

I took a note from a safe in the corner of 
the room, and held it out. The man took it, 
felt its crispness and stowed it away in a secure 
pocket. His thoughts were temporarily di- 
verted by the prospect of an immediate future 
with plenty of money, and he picked up his 
hat and went to the door. But his turquoise 
finger nails lying against the rusty black of the 


86 


THE BLUE GERM 


hat brought him back to his suspicions. He 
paused and turned. 

“My name’s Wain,” he said. “I’m telling 
you, in case you might ’ear of me again. 
’Erbert Wain. I know what yours is, remem- 
ber, because I seed it on the door.” He 
twisted his hat round several times in his 
hands and drew his brows together, puzzled at 
the speed of his ideas. Then he remembered 
the card that Symington-Tearle had given him. 

He pulled it out and examined it. “I’m 
going across to see this gent,” he announced. 
“It’s convenient, ’im living so close. Perhaps 
he’ll ’ave a word to say about this ’ere disease. 
Fair spread over Birmingham, so they say. It 
would be nasty if any bloke was responsible for 
it. Good day to yer.” He opened the door 
slowly, and glanced back at us standing in the 
middle of the room watching him. “Look 
’ere,” he said swiftly, “what did ’e mean, saying 

I was never going to die and ” The light 

from the window was against his eyes, and 
he could not see the features of Sarakoff s face, 
but there was something in the outline of his 
body that checked him. “Guv’ner, it ain’t 


THE MAN FROM BIRMINGHAM 87 


true.” The words came hoarsely from his lips. 
“I ain’t never not going to die.” 

Sarakoff spoke. 

“You are never going to die, Mr. Herbert 
Wain . . . you understand? . . . Never go- 
ing to die, unless you get killed in an accident 
— or starve.” \ 

I jerked up my hand to stop my friend. 

Wain stared incredulously. Then he burst 
into a roar of laughter and smacked his thigh. 

“Gor lumme!” he exclaimed, “if that ain’t 
rich. Never going to die! Live for ever! 
Strike me, if that ain’t a notion!” The tears 
ran down his cheeks and he paused to wipe 
them away. “If I was to believe what you 
say,” he went on, “it would fair drive me crazy. 
Live for ever — s’elp me, if that wouldn’t be 
just ’ell. Good-day to yer, gents. I’m 
obliged to yer.” 

He went out into the sunlit street still roar- 
ing with laughter, a thin, ragged, tattered 
figure, with the shadow of immortality upon 
him. 


CHAPTER X 


THE ILLNESS OF MR. ANNOT 

T HE departure of Mr. Herbert Wain was 
a relief. I turned to Sarakoff at once 
and spoke with some heat. 

“You were more than imprudent to give that 
fellow hints that we knew more about the Blue 
Disease than anybody else,” I exclaimed. 
“This may be the beginning of incalculable 
trouble.” 

“Nonsense,” replied the Russian. “You are 
far too apprehensive. Harden. What can he 
do?” 

“What may he not do?” I cried bitterly. 
“Do you suppose London will welcome the 
spread of the germ? Do you think that people 
will be pleased to know that you and I were 
responsible for its appearance?” 

“When they realize that it brings immortal- 
ity with it, they will hail us as the saviours of 
humanity.” 


88 


THE ILLNESS OF MR. ANNOT 89 


‘‘Mr. Herbert Wain did not seem to accept 
the idea of immortality with any pleasure,” I 
muttered. “The suggestion seemed to strike 
him as terrible.” 

Sarakoff laughed genially. 

“My friend,” he said, “Mr. Herbert Wain is 
not a man of vision. He is a cockney, brought 
up in the streets of a callous city. To him life 
is a hard struggle, and immortality naturally 
appears in a poor light. You must have pa- 
tience. It will take some time before the 
significance of this immortality is grasped by 
the people. But when it is grasped, all the 
conditions of life will change. Life will be- 
come beautiful. We will have reforms that, 
under ordinary circumstances, would have 
taken countless ages to bring about. We will 
anticipate our evolution by thousands of cen- 
turies. At one step we will reach the ultimate 
goal of our destiny.” 

“And what is that?” 

“Immortality, of course. Surely you must 
see by now that all the activities of modern life 
are really directed towards one end — towards 
solving the riddle of prolonging life and at the 
same time increasing pleasure? Isn’t that the 


90 


THE BLUE GERM 


inner secret desire that you doctors find in 
every patient? So far a compromise has only 
been possible, but now that is all changed.” 

“I don’t agree, Sarakoff. Some people 
must live for other motives. Take myself 
. . . I live for science.” 

“It is merely your form of pleasure.” 

“That’s a quibble,” I cried angrily. 
“Science is aspiration. There’s all the differ- 
ence in the world between aspiration and pleas- 
ure. I have scarcely known what pleasure is. 
I have worked like a slave all my life, with the 
sole ambition of leaving something permanent 
behind me when I die.” 

“But you won’t die,” interposed the Russian. 
“That is the charm of the new situation.” 

“Then why should I work?” The question 
shaped itself in my mind and I uttered it invol- 
untarily. I sat down and stared at the fire. 
A kind of dull depression came over me, arid 
for some reason the picture of Sarakoff’s but- 
terflies appeared in my mind. I saw them with 
great distinctness, crawling aimlessly on the 
floor of their cage. “Why should I work?” 
I repeated. 

Sarakoff merely shrugged his shoulders and 


THE ILLNESS OF MR. ANNOT 


91 


turned away. Questions of that kind did not 
seem to bother him. His was a nature that 
escaped the necessity of self-analysis. But I 
was different, and our conversation had 
aroused a train of odd thought. What, after 
all, was it that kept my nose to the grindstone? 
Why had I slaved incessantly all my life, read- 
ing when I might have slept, examining pa- 
tients when I might have been strolling through 
meadows, hurrying through meals when I 
might have eaten at leisure? What was the 
cause behind all the tremendous activity and 
feverish haste of modern people ? When Sara- 
koff had said that I would not die, and that 
therein lay the charm of the new situation, it 
seemed as if scales had momentarily fallen 
from my eyes. I beheld myself as something 
ridiculous, comparable to a hare that persists 
in dashing along a country lane in front of the 
headlight of a motor car, when a turn one way 
or another would bring it to safety. A great 
uneasiness filled me, and with it came a deter- 
mination to ignore these new fields of thought 
that loomed round me — a determination that 
I have seen in old men when they are faced by 
the new and contradictory — and I began to 


92 


THE BLUE GERM 


force my attention elsewhere. I was relieved 
when the door opened and my servant entered. 
She handed me a telegram. It was from Miss 
Annot, asking me to come to Cambridge at 
once, as her father was seriously ill. I scrib- 
bled a reply, saying I would be down that aft- 
ernoon. 

After the servant had left the room, I re- 
mained gazing at the fire, but my depression 
left me. In place of it I felt a quiet elation, 
and it was not difficult for me to account for 
it. 

“I was wrong in saying that I had scarcely 
known what pleasure is,” I observed at length, 
looking up at Sarakoff with a smile. “I must 
confess to you that there is one factor in my life 
that gives me great pleasure.” 

Sarakoff placed himself before me, hands in 
pockets and pipe in mouth, and gazed at me 
with an answering smile in his dark face. 

“A woman?” 

I flushed. The Russian seemed amused. 

“I thought as much,” he remarked. “This 
year I noticed a change in you. Your fits of 
abstraction suggested it. Well, may I con- 


THE ILLNESS OF MR. ANNOT 93 


gratulate you? When are you to be mar- 
ried ?” 

“That is out of the question at present,” I 
answered hurriedly. “In fact, there is no 
definite arrangement — just a mutual under- 
standing. . . . She is not free.” 

Sarakoff raised his shaggy eyebrows. 

“Then she is already married?” 

This cross-examination was intensely painful 
to me. Between Miss Annot and myself there 
was, I hoped, a perfect understanding, and I 
quite realized the girl’s position. She was 
devoted to her father, who required her con- 
stant attention and care, and until she was free 
there could be no question of marriage, or even 
an engagement, for fear of wounding the old 
man’s feelings. I quite appreciated her situa- 
tion and was content to wait. 

“No! She has an invalid father, and ” 

“Rubbish!” said Sarakoff, with remarkable 
force. “Rubbish! Marry her, man, and then 
think of her father. Why, that sort of 

thing ” He drew a deep breath and 

checked himself. 

I shook my head. 

“That is impossible. Here, in England, we 


94 ? 


THE BLUE GERM 


cannot do such things. . . . The girl’s duty is 
plain. I am quite prepared to wait.” 

“To wait for what?” 

I looked at him in unthinking surprise. 

“Until Mr. Annot dies, of course.” 

Sarakoff remained motionless. Then he 
took his pipe out of his mouth, strolled to the 
window, and began to whistle to himself in 
subdued tones. A moment later he left the 
room. I picked up a time-table and looked out 
a train, a little puzzled by his behaviour. 

I reached Cambridge early in the afternoon 
and took a taxi to the Annots’ house. Miss 
Annot met me at the door. 

“It is so good of you to come,” she said 
with a faint smile. “My father behaved very 
foolishly yesterday. He insisted on inviting 
the Perrys to lunch, and he talked a great deal 
and insisted on drinking wine, with the result 
that in the night he had a return of his gastritis. 
He is very weak to-day and his mind seems to 
be wandering a little.” 

“You should not have allowed him to do 
that,” I remonstrated. “He is in too fragile a 
state to run any risks.” 

“Oh, but I couldn’t help it. The Perrys 


THE ILLNESS OF MR. ANNOT 95 


are such old friends of father’s, and they were 
only staying one day in Cambridge. Father 
would have fretted if they had not come.” 

I had taken off my coat in the hall, and we 
were now standing in the drawing-room. 

“You are tired, Alice,” I said. 

“I’ve been up most of the night,” she replied, 
with an effort towards brightness. “But I do 
feel tired, I admit.” 

I turned away from her and went to the 
window. For the first time I felt the awk- 
wardness of our position. I had a strong and 
natural impulse to comfort her, but what could 
I do? After a moment’s reflection, I made a 
sudden resolution. 

“Alice,” I said, “you and I had better be- 
come engaged. Don’t you think it would be 
easier for you?” 

“Oh, don’t,” she cried. “Father would 
never endure the idea that I belonged to an- 
other man. He would worry about my leav- 
ing him continually. No, please wait. Per- 
haps it will not be ” 

She checked herself. I remained silent, 
staring at the pattern of the carpet with a 
frown. To my annoyance, I could not keep 


96 


THE BLUE GERM 


SarakofF’s words out of my mind. And yet 
Alice was right. I felt sure that no one is a 
free agent in the sense that he or she can be 
guided solely by love. It is necessary to make 
a compromise. As these thoughts formed in 
my mind I again seemed to hear the loud voice 
of Sarakoff, sounding in derision at my cau- 
tious views. A conflict arose in my soul. I 
raised my eyes and looked at Alice. She was 
standing by the mantelpiece, staring listlessly 
at the grate. A wave of emotion passed over 
me. I took a step towards her. 

“Alice!” And then the words stuck in my 
throat. She turned her head and her eyes 
questioned me. I tried to continue, but some- 
thing prevented me, and I became suddenly 
calm again. “Please take me up to your fa- 
ther,” I begged her. She obeyed silently, and 
I followed her upstairs. 

Mr. Annot was lying in a darkened room 
with his eyes closed. He was a very old man, 
approaching ninety, with a thin aquiline face 
and white hair. He lay very still, and at first 
I thought he was unconscious. But his pulse 
was surprisingly good, and his breathing deep 
and regular. 


THE ILLNESS OF MR. ANNOT 


97 


“He is sleeping,” I murmured. 

She leaned over the bed. 

“He scarcely slept during the night,” she 
whispered. “This will do him good.” 

“His pulse could not he better,” I mur- 
mured. 

She peered at him more closely. 

“Isn’t he very pale?” 

I stooped down, so that my face was close to 
hers. The old man certainly looked very pale. 
A marble-like hue lay over his features, and yet 
the skin was warm to the touch. 

“How long has he been asleep?” I asked. 

“He was awake over an hour ago, when I 
looked in last. He said then that he was feel- 
ing drowsy.” 

“I think we’ll wake him up.” 

Alice hesitated. 

“Won’t you wait for tea?” she whispered. 
“He would probably be awake by then.” 

I shook my head. 

“I must get back to London by five. Do 
you mind if we have a little more light?” 

She moved to the window and raised the 
blind half way. I examined the old man 
attentively. There was no doubt about the 


98 


THE BLUE GERM 


curious pallor of his skin. It was like the pal- 
lor of extreme collapse, save for the presence of 
a faint colour in his cheeks which seemed to 
lie as a bright transparency over a dead back- 
ground. My fingers again sought his pulse. 
It was full and steady. As I counted it my 
eyes rested on his hand. 

I stooped down suddenly with an exclama- 
tion. Alice hurried to my side. 

“Where did those friends of his come from?” 
I asked swiftly. 

“The Perrys? From Birmingham.” 

“Was there anything wrong with them?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Before I could reply the old man opened his 
eyes. The light fell clearly on his face. Alice 
uttered a cry of horror. I experienced an 
extraordinary sensation of fear. Out of the 
marble pallor of Mr. Annot’s face, two eyes, 
stained a sparrow-egg blue, stared keenly at us. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE RESURRECTION 

F OR some moments none of us spoke. 
Alice recovered herself first. 

“What is the matter with him?” she gasped. 
I was incapable of finding a suitable reply, 
and stood, tongue-tied, staring foolishly at the 
old man. He seemed a little surprised at our 
behaviour. 

“Dr. Harden,” he said, “I am glad to see 
you. My daughter did not tell me you were 
coming.” 

His voice startled me. It was strong and 
clear. On my previous visit to him he had 
spoken in quavering tones. 

“Oh, father, how do you feel?” exclaimed 
Alice, kneeling beside the bed. 

“My dear, I feel extremely well. I have 
not felt so well for many years.” He stretched 
out his hand and patted his daughter’s head. 
“Yes, my sleep has done me good. I should 
like to get up for tea.” 


100 


THE BLUE GERM 


“But your eyes ” stammered Alice 

“Can you see, father?” 

“See, my dear? What does she mean, Dr. 
Harden?” 

“There is some discolouration of the con- 
junctivas,” I said hastily. “It is nothing to 
worry about.” 

At that moment Alice caught sight of his 
finger nails. 

“Look!” she cried, “they’re blue.” 

The old man raised his hands and looked at 
them in astonishment. 

“How extraordinary,” he murmured. 
“What do you make of that, doctor?” 

“It is nothing,” I assured him. “It is only 
pigmentation caused — er — caused by some 
harmless germ.” 

“I know what it is,” cried Alice suddenly. 
“It’s the Blue Disease. Father, you remem- 
ber the Perrys were telling us about it yester- 
day at lunch. They said it was all over 
Birmingham, and that they had come south 
partly to escape it. They must have brought 
the infection with them.” 

“Yes,” I said, “that is certainly the explana- 
tion. And now, Mr. Annot, let me assure you 


THE RESURRECTION 101 

that this disease is harmless. It has no ill ef- 
fects.” 

Mr. Annot sat up in bed with an exhibition 
of vigour that was remarkable in a man of 
his age. 

“I can certainly witness to the fact that it 
causes no ill effects, Dr. Harden,” he ex- 
claimed. “This morning I felt extremely 
weak and was prepared for the end. But now 
I seem to have been endowed with a fresh lease 
of life. I feel young again. Do you think 
this Blue Disease is the cause of it?” 

“Possibly. It is difficult to say,” I answered 
in some confusion. “But you must not think 
of getting up, Mr. Annot. Rest in bed for the 
next week is essential.” 

“Humbug!” cried the old man, fixing his 
brilliant eyes upon me. “I am going to get 
up this instant.” 

“Oh, father, please don’t be so foolish!” 

“Foolish, child? Do you think I’m going 
to lie here when I feel as if my body and mind 
had been completely rejuvenated? I repeat I 
am going to get up. Nothing on earth will 
keep me in bed.” 

The old man began to remove the bed- 


102 


THE BLUE GERM 


clothes. I made an attempt to restrain him, 
but was met by an outburst of irritation that 
warned me not to interfere. I motioned Alice 
to follow me, and together we left the room. 
As we went downstairs I heard a curious sound 
proceeding from Mr. Annot’s bedroom. We 
halted on the stairs and listened. The sound 
became louder and clearer. 

“Father is singing,” said Alice in a low 
voice. Then she took out her handkerchief 
and began to sob. 

We continued our way downstairs, Alice en- 
deavouring to stifle her sobs, and I in a dazed 
condition of mind. I was stunned by the fact 
that that mad experiment of ours should have 
had such a sudden and strange result. It pro- 
duced in me a fear that was far worse to bear 
than the vague anxiety I had felt ever since 
those fatal tubes of the Sarakoff -Harden 
bacillus had been emptied into the lake. I 
stumbled into the drawing-room and threw my- 
self upon a chair. My legs were weak, and my 
hands were trembling. 

“Alice,” I said, “you must not allow this 
to distress you. The Blue Disease is not 
dangerous.” 


THE RESURRECTION 103 

She lifted a tear-stained face and looked at 
me dully. 

“Richard, I can’t bear it any longer. I’ve 
given half my life to looking after father. I 
simply can’t bear it.” 

I sat up and stared at her. What strange 
intuition had come to her? 

“What do you mean?” 

She sobbed afresh. 

“I can’t endure the sight of him with those 
blue eyes,” she went on, rather wildly. 
“Richard, I must get away. I’ve never been 
from him for more than a few hours at a time 
for the last fifteen years. Don’t think I want 
him to die.” 

“I don’t.” 

“I’m glad he’s better,” she remarked irrele- 
vantly. 

“So am I.” 

“The Perrys were saying that the doctors 
up in Birmingham think that the Blue Disease 
cut short other diseases, and made people feel 
better.” She twisted her handkerchief for 
some moments. “Does it?” she asked, looking 
at me directly. 

“I — er — I have heard it does.” 


104 THE BLUE GERM 

An idea had come into my mind, and I could 
not get rid of it. Why should I not tell her 
all that I knew? 

“I’m thirty-five,” she remarked. 

“And I’m forty-two.” I tried to smile. 

“Life’s getting on for us both,” she added. 

“I know, Alice. I suggested that we should 
get engaged a short while ago. Now I sug- 
gest that we get married — as soon as possible.” 
I got up and paced the room. “Why not?” 
I demanded passionately. 

She shook her head, and appeared confused. 

“It’s impossible. Who could look after 
him? I should never be happy, Richard, as 
long as he was living.” 

I stopped before her. 

“Not with me?” 

“No, Richard. I should be left a great deal 
to myself. A doctor’s wife always is. I’ve 
thought it out carefully. I would think of 
him.” 

After a long silence, I made a proposal that 
I had refused to entertain before. 

“Well, there’s no reason why he should not 
come and live with us. There is plenty of 


THE RESURRECTION 105 

room in my house at Harley Street. Would 
that do?” 

It was a relief to me when she said that she 
would not consent to an arrangement of that 
kind. I sat down again. 

“Alice,” I said quietly, “it is necessary that 
we should decide our future. There are spe- 
cial reasons.” 

She glanced at me enquiringly. There was 
a pause in which I tried to collect my thoughts. 

“Your father,” I continued, “is suffering 
from a very peculiar disease. It is wrong, per- 
haps, to call it a disease. You wouldn’t call 
life a disease, would you?” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“No, of course not. Well, to put it as 
simply as possible, it is likely that your father 
will live a long time now. When he said he 
felt as if his mind and body had been re- 
juvenated he was speaking the truth.” 

“But he will be ninety next year,” she said 
bluntly. 

“I know. But that will make no difference. 
This germ, that is now in his body, has the 
power of arresting all further decay. Your 


106 THE BLUE GERM 

father will remain as he is now for an indefinite 
period.” 

I met her eyes as steadily as I could, but 
there was a quality in her gaze that caused me 
to look elsewhere. 

“How do you know this?” she asked after a 
painful silence. 

“I — er — I can’t tell you.” The colour 
mounted to my cheeks, and I began to tap 
the carpet impatiently with the toe of my boot. 
“You wouldn’t understand,” I continued in as 
professional a manner as I could muster. 
“You would need first to study the factors that 
bring about old age.” 

“Where did the Blue Disease come from? 
Tell me. I can surely understand that!” 

“You have read the paper, haven’t you?” 

“I’ve read that no one understands what it 
is, and that the doctors are puzzled.” 

“How should I know where it comes from?” 

She regarded me searchingly. 

“You know something about it,” she said 
positively. “Richard, you are keeping it back 
from me. I have a right to know what it is.” 

I was silent. 

“If you don’t tell me, how can I trust you 


THE RESURRECTION 


107 


again?” she asked. “Don’t you see that there 
will always be a shadow between us?” 

It was not difficult for me to guess that my 
guilty manner had roused her suspicions. She 
had seen my agitation, and had found it un- 
accountable. I resolved to entrust her with 
the secret of the germ. 

“Do you remember that I once told you my 
friend, Professor Sarakoff, had succeeded in 
keeping butterflies alive for over a year?” 

She nodded. 

“He and I have been experimenting on 
those lines and he has found a germ that has 
the property of keeping human beings alive in 
the same way. The germ has escaped . . . 
into the world . . . and it is the cause of the 
Blue Disease.” 

“How did it escape?” 

I winced. In her voice I was conscious of 
a terrible accusation. 

“By accident,” I stammered. 

She jumped to her feet. 

“I don’t believe it! That is a lie!” 

“Alice, you must calm yourself! I am try- 
ing to tell you exactly what happened.” 

“Was it by accident?” 


108 


THE BLUE GERM 


The vision of that secret expedition to the 
water supply of Birmingham passed before me. 
I felt like a criminal. I could not raise my 
eyes ; my cheeks were burning. In the silence 
that followed, the sound of Mr. Annot’s voice 
became audible. Alice stood before me, rigid 
and implacable. 

“It was — by accident,” I said. I tried to 
look at her, and failed. She remained motion- 
less for about a minute. Then she turned 
and left the room. I heard her go slowly 
upstairs. A door banged. Actuated by a 
sudden desire, I stepped into the hall, seized my 
coat and hat and opened the front door. I was 
just in time. As I gently closed the door I 
heard Mr. Annot on the landing above. He 
was singing some long-forgotten tune in a 
strange cracked voice. 

I stood outside on the doorstep, listening, 
until, overcome by curiosity, I bent down and 
lifted the flap of the letter-box. The interior 
of the hall was plainly visible. Mr. Annot had 
ceased singing and was now standing before the 
mirror which hung beside the hatstand. He 
was a trifle unsteady, and swayed on his frail 
legs, but he was staring at himself with a kind 


THE RESURRECTION 


109 


of savage intensity. At last he turned away 
and I caught the expression on his face. . . . 
With a slight shiver, I let down the flap noise- 
lessly. There was something in that expres- 
sion that for me remains unnamable; and I 
think now, as I look back into those past times, 
that of all the signs which showed me that the 
Sarakoff -Harden bacillus was an offence 
against humanity, that strange look on the 
nonagenarian’s face was the most terrible and 
obvious. 


CHAPTER XII 


MR. CLUTTERBUCK’S OPINION 

W HEN I reached London it was dusk, 
and a light mist hung in the darkening 
air. The lamps were twinkling in the streets. 
I decided to get some tea in a restaurant ad- 
joining the station. When I entered it was 
crowded, and the only seat that was empty was 
at a small table already occupied by another 
man. I sat down, and gave my order to the 
waitress, and remained staring moodily at the 
soiled marble surface of the table. My neigh- 
bour was engrossed in his paper. 

During my journey from Cambridge I had 
come to a certain conclusion. Sarakoff was of 
the opinion that we should publish a statement 
about the germ of immortality, and now I was 
in agreement with him. For I had been re- 
flecting upon the capacity of human mind for 
retaining secrets and had come to the con- 
clusion that it is so constructed that its power 
no 


MR. CLUTTERBUCK’S OPINION 111 


of retention is remarkably small. I felt that 
it would be a matter of extraordinary relief if 
everyone in that tea-shop knew the secret of 
the Blue Germ. 

I began to study the man who sat opposite 
me. He was a quietly dressed middle-aged 
man. The expression on his rather pale, clean- 
shaven face suggested that he was a clerk or 
secretary. He looked reliable, unimaginative, 
careful and methodical. He was reading his 
newspaper with close attention. A cup of tea 
and the remains of a toasted muffin were at his 
elbow. It struck me that here was a very 
average type of man, and an immense desire 
seized upon me to find out what opinion he 
would pronounce if I were to tell him my 
secret. I waited until he looked up. 

“Is there any news?” I asked. 

He observed me for a moment as if he re- 
sented my question. 

“The Blue Disease is spreading in London,” 
he remarked shortly, and returned to his paper. 
I felt rebuffed, but reflected that this, after all, 
was how an average man might be expected to 
behave. 

“A curious business,” I continued. “I am 


112 


THE BLUE GERM 


a doctor, and therefore very much interested 
in it.” 

His manner changed. He assumed the atti- 
tude of the average man towards a doctor at 
once, and I was gratified to observe it. 

“I was just thinking I’d like to hear what a 
doctor thinks about it,” he said, laying down 
his paper. “I thought of calling in on Dr. 
Sykes on my way home to-night; he attends 
my wife. Do you know Dr. Sykes?” 

“Which one?” I asked cautiously, not will- 
ing to disappoint him. 

“Dr. Sykes of Harlesden,” he said, with a 
look of surprise. 

“Oh, yes, I know Dr. Sykes. Why did you 
think of going to see him?” 

He smiled apologetically and pointed to the 
paper. 

“It sounds so queer . . . the disease. They 
say, up in Birmingham, that it’s stopping all 
diseases in the hospitals . . . everywhere. 
People getting well all of a sudden. Now I 
don’t believe that.” 

“Have you seen a case yet?” 

“Yes. A woman. In the street this after- 
noon as I was coming from lunch. The police 


MR. CLUTTERBUCK’S OPINION 113 

took her. She was mad, I can tell you. There 
was a big crowd. She screamed. I think she 
was drunk.” He paused, and glanced at me. 
“What do you think of it?” 

I took a deep breath. 

“I don’t think , I know” I said, in as quiet a 
manner as possible. He stared a moment, and 
a nervous smile appeared and swiftly vanished. 
He seemed uncertain what to do. 

“You’ve found out something?” he asked at 
length, playing with his teaspoon and keeping 
his eyes on the table. I regarded him care- 
fully. I was not quite certain if he still 
thought I was a doctor. 

“I’m not a lunatic,” I said. “I’m merely 
stating a rather extraordinary fact. I know 
all about the germ of the Blue Disease.” 

He raised his eyes for an instant, and then 
lowered them. His hand had stopped trifling 
with the teaspoon. 

“Yes,” he said, “the doctors think it’s due 
to a germ of some sort.” He made a sort of 
effort and continued. “It is funny, some of 
these germs being invisible through micro- 
scopes. Measles and chickenpox and common 
things like that. They’ve never seen the germs 


114 * 


THE BLUE GERM 


that cause them, that’s what the papers say. 
It seems odd — having something you can’t 
see.” He turned his head, and looked for his 
hat that hung on a peg behind him. 

“One moment,” I said. I took out my card- 
case. “I want you to read this card. Don’t 
think I’m mad. I want to talk to you for a 
particular reason which I’ll explain in a mo- 
ment.” He took the card hesitatingly and 
read it. Then he looked at me. “The reason 
why I am speaking to you is this,” I said. “I 
want to find out what a decent citizen like your- 
self will think of something I know. It con- 
cerns the Blue Disease and its origin.” 

He seemed disturbed, and took out his 
watch. 

“I ought to get home. My wife ” 

“Is your wife ill?” 

“Yes.” 

“What’s the matter with her?” 

He frowned. 

“Dr. Sykes thinks it’s lung trouble.” 

“Consumption?” 

He nodded, and an expression of anxiety 
came over his face. 

“Good,” I exclaimed. “Now listen to what 


MR. CLUTTERBUCK’S OPINION 115 


I have to say. Before the week is out your 
wife will be cured. I swear it.” 

He said nothing. It was plain that he was 
still suspicious. 

“You read what they say in the papers 
about the Blue Disease cutting short other 
diseases? Well, that Blue Disease will be all 
over London in a day or two. Now do you 
understand?” 

I saw that I had interested him. He settled 
himself on his chair, and began to examine me. 
His gaze travelled over my face and clothes, 
pausing at my cuff-links and my tie and collar. 
Then he looked at my card again. Inwardly 
he came to a decision. 

“I’m willing to listen to what you’ve got to 
say,” he remarked, “if you think it’s worth 
saying.” 

“Thank you. I think it’s worth hearing.” 
I leaned my arms on the table in front of me. 
“This Blue Disease is not an accidental thing. 
It was deliberately planned, by two scientists. 
I was one of those scientists.” 

“You can’t plan a disease,” he remarked, 
after a considerable silence. 

“You’re wrong. We found a way of creat- 


116 


THE BLUE GERM 


ing new germs. We worked at the idea of 
creating a particular kind of germ that would 
kill all other germs . . . and we were success- 
ful. Then we let loose the germ on the 
world.” 

“How?” 

“We infected the water supply of Birming- 
ham at its orgin in Wales.” 

I watched his expression intently. 

“You mean that you did this secretly, with- 
out knowing what the result would be?” he 
asked at last. 

“We foresaw the result to a certain extent.” 

He thought for some time. 

“But you had no right to infect a water 
supply. That’s criminal, surely?” 

“It’s criminal if the infection is dangerous to 
people. If you put cholera in a reservoir, of 
course it’s criminal.” 

“But this germ . . .?” 

“This germ does not kill people. It kills 
the germs in people.” 

“What’s the difference?” 

“All the difference in the world! It’s like 
this. . . . By the way, what is your name?” 

“Clutterbuck.” The word escaped his lips 


MR. CLUTTERBUCK’S OPINION 117 

by accident. He looked annoyed. I smiled 
reassuringly. 

“It’s like this, Mr. Clutterbuck. If you kill 
all the germs in a person’s body, that per- 
son doesn’t die. He lives . . . indefinitely. 
Now do you see?” 

“No, I don’t see,” said Clutterbuck with 
great frankness. “I don’t understand what 
you’re driving at. You tell me that you’re a 
doctor and you give me a card bearing a well- 
known specialist’s name. Then you say you 
created a germ and put it in the Birmingham 
water supply and that the result is the Blue 
Disease. This germ, you say, doesn’t kill 
people, but does something else which I don’t 
follow. Now I was taught that germs are 
dangerous things, and it seems to me that if 
your story is true — which I don’t believe — 
you are guilty of a criminal act.” He pushed 
back his chair and reached for his hat. There 
was a flush on his face. 

“Then you don’t believe my tale?” 

“No, I’m sorry, but I don’t.” 

“Well, Mr. Clutterbuck, will you believe it 
when you see your wife restored to health in a 
few days’ time?” 


118 


THE BLUE GERM 


He paused and stared at me. 

“What you say is impossible,” he said slowly. 
“If you were a doctor you’d know that as well 
as I do.” 

“But the reports in the paper?” 

“Oh, that’s journalistic rubbish.” 

He picked up his umbrella and beckoned to 
the waitress. I made a last attempt. 

“If I take you to my house will you believe 
me then?” 

“Look here,” he said in an angry tone, “I’ve 
had enough of this. I can’t waste my time. 
I’m sure of one thing and that is that you’re 
no doctor. You’ve got somebody’s card-case. 
You don’t look like a doctor and you don’t 
speak like one. I should advise you to be 
careful.” 

He moved away from the table. Some 
neighbouring people stared at me for a mo- 
ment and then went on eating. Mr. Clutter- 
buck paid at the desk and left the establish- 
ment. I had received the verdict of the 
average man. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE DEAD IMMORTAL 

HEN I reached home, Sarakoff was 



V V out. He had left a message to say he 
would not be in until after midnight, as he was 
going to hear Leonora sing at the opera, and 
purposed to take her to supper afterwards. 
Dinner was therefore a solitary meal for me, 
and when it was all over I endeavoured to 
plunge into some medical literature. The 
hours passed slowly. It was almost impossible 
to read, for the process, to me, was similar to 
trying to take an interest in a week-old news- 
paper. 

The thought of the bacillus made the pages 
seem colourless; it dwarfed all meaning in the 
words. I gave up the attempt and set myself 
to smoking and gazing into the fire. What 
was I to do about Alice? 

Midnight came and my mind was still 
seething. I knew sleep was out of the question 
and the desire to walk assailed me. I put on 


119 


120 


THE BLUE GERM 


a coat and hat and left the house. It was a 
cold night, clear with stars. Harley Street 
was silent. My footsteps led me south towards 
the river. I walked rapidly, oblivious of 
others. The problem of Alice was beyond 
solution, for the simple reason that I found 
it impossible to think of her clearly. She was 
overshadowed by the wonder of the bacillus. 
But the picture of her father haunted me. It 
filled me with strange emotions, and at mo- 
ments with stranger misgivings. 

There are meanings, dimly caught at the 
time, which remain in the mind like blind 
creatures, mewing and half alive. They pluck 
at the brain ceaselessly, seeking birth in 
thought. Old Annot’s face peering into the 
hall mirror — what was it that photographed 
the scene so pitilessly in my memory? I hur- 
ried along, scarcely noticing where I went, and 
as I went I argued with myself aloud. 

On the Embankment I returned to a full 
sense of my position in space. The river ran 
beneath me, cold and dark. I leaned over the 
stone balustrade and stared at the dark forms 
of barges. Yes, it was true enough that I 
had not realized that the germ would keep 


THE DEAD IMMORTAL 


121 


Mr. Annot alive indefinitely. Sarakoff’s 
significant whistle that morning came to my 
mind, and I saw that I had been guilty of 
singular denseness in not understanding its 
meaning. 

And now old Annot would live on and on, 
year after year. Was I glad? It is impos- 
sible to say. It was that expression in the old 
man’s face that dominated me. I tried to 
think it out. It had been a triumphant look ; 
and more than that ... a triumphant tooth- 
less look. Was that the solution? I reflected 
that triumph is an expression that belongs to 
youth, to young things, to all that is striving 
upwards in growth. Surely old people should 
look only patient and resigned — never tri- 
umphant — in this world? Some strong ac- 
tion with regard to Alice’s position would be 
necessary. It was absurd to think that her 
father should eternally come between her and 
me. It would be necessary to go down to 
Cambridge and make a clean confession to 
Alice. And then, when forgiven, I would in- 
sist on an immediate arrangement concerning 
our marriage. Marriage ! The word vibrated 
in my soul. The solemnity of that ceremony 


122 


THE BLUE GERM 


was great enough to mere mortals, but what 
would it mean to us when we were immortals ? 
Sarakoff had hinted at a new marriage system. 
Was such a thing possible? On what factors 
did marriage rest? Was it merely a discipline 
or was it ultimately selfishness ? 

My agitation increased, and I hurried east- 
wards, soon entering an area of riverside Lon- 
don that, had I been calmer, might have given 
me some alarm. It must have been about two 
o’clock in the morning when the pressure of 
thoughts relaxed in my mind. I found myself 
in the great dock area. The forms of giant 
cranes rose dimly in the air. A distant glare 
of light, where nightshifts were at work, illumi- 
nated the huge shapes of ocean steamers. 
The quays were littered with crates and bales. 
A clanking of buffers and the shrill whistles of 
locomotives came out of the darkness. For 
some time I stood transfixed. In my imagina- 
tion I saw these big ships, laden with cargo, 
slipping down the Thames and out into the 
sea, carrying with them an added cargo to 
every part of the earth. For by them would 
the Blue Germ travel over the waterways 


THE DEAD IMMORTAL 


123 


of the world and enter every port. From the 
ports it would spread swiftly into the towns, 
and from the towns onwards across plain and 
prairie until the gift of Immortality had been 
received by every human being. The vision 
thrilled me. . . . 

A commotion down a side street on my 
right shattered this glorious picture. Hoarse 
cries rang out, and a sound of blows. I could 
make out a small dark struggling mass which 
seemed to break into separate parts and then 
coalesce again. A police whistle sounded. 
The mass again broke up, and some figures 
came rushing down the street in my direction. 
They passed me in a flash, and vanished. At 
the far end of the street two twinkling lights 
appeared. After a period of hesitation — 
what doctor goes willingly into the accidents 
of the streets? — I walked slowly in their direc- 
tion. 

When I reached them I found two policemen 
bending over the body of a man, which lay in 
the gutter face downwards. 

“Good evening,” I said. “Can I be of any 
service? I am a doctor.” 


124 


THE BLUE GERM 


They shone their lamps on me suspiciously. 
“What are you doing here?” 

“Walking,” I replied. Exercise had calmed 
me. I felt cool and collected. “I often walk 
far at night. Let me see the body.” 

I stooped down and turned the body over. 
The policemen watched me in silence. The 
body was that of a young, fair-haired sailor 
man. There was a knife between his ribs. 
His eyes were screwed up into a rigid state of 
contraction which death had not yet relaxed. 
His whole body was rigid. I knew that the 
knife had pierced his heart. But the most 
extraordinary thing about him was his expres- 
sion. I have never looked on a face either 
in life or death that expressed such terror. 
Even the policemen were startled. The light 
of their lamps shone on that monstrous and 
distorted countenance, and we gazed in horri- 
fied silence. 

“Is he dead?” asked one at last. 

“Quite dead,” I replied, “but it is odd to 
find this rigidity so early.” I began to press 
his eyelids apart. The right eye opened. I 
uttered a cry of astonishment. 

“Look!” I cried. 


THE DEAD IMMORTAL 


125 


They stared. 

“Blest if that ain’t queer,” said one. “It’s 
that Blue Disease. He must ’ave come from 
Birmingham.” 

“Queer?” I said passionately. “Why, man, 
it’s tragedy — unadulterated tragedy. The 
man was an Immortal.” 

They stared at me heavily. 

“Immortal?” said one. 

“He would have lived for ever,” I said. 
“In his system there is the most marvellous 
germ that the world has ever known. It was 
circulating in his blood. It had penetrated to 
every part of his body. A few minutes ago, 
as he walked along the dark street, he had 
before him a future of unnumbered years. 
And now he lies in the gutter. Can you 
imagine a greater tragedy?” 

The policemen transferred their gaze from 
me to the dead man. Then, as if moved by 
a common impulse, they began to laugh. I 
watched them moodily, plunged in an extraor- 
dinary vein of thought. When I moved away 
they at once stopped me. 

“No, you don’t,” said one. “We’ll want you 
at the police station to give your evidence. 


126 


THE BLUE GERM 


Not/’ he continued with a grin, “to tell that 
bit of information you just gave us, about him 
being an angel or something.” 

“I didn’t say he was an angel.” 

They laughed tolerantly. Like Mr. Clut- 
terbuck, they thought I was mad. 

“Let’s hope he’s an angel,” said the other. 
“But, by his face, he looks more like the other 
thing. Bill, you go round for the ambulance. 
I’ll stay with the gentleman.” 

The policeman moved away ponderously and 
vanished in the darkness. 

“What was that you were saying, sir?” asked 
the policeman who remained with me. 

“Never mind,” I muttered, “you wouldn’t 
understand.” 

“I’m interested in religious matters,” con- 
tinued the policeman in a soft voice. “You 
think that the Blue Disease is something out 
of the common?” 

I am never surprised at London policemen, 
but I looked at this one closely before I replied. 

“You seem a reasonable man,” I said. “Let 
me tell you that what I have told you about 
the germ — that it confers immortality — is cor- 
rect. In a day or two you will be immortal.” 


THE DEAD IMMORTAL 


m 


He seemed to reflect in a calm massive way 
on the news. His eyes were fixed on the dead 
man’s face. 

“An Immortal Policeman?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re asking me to believe a lot, sir.” 

“I know that. But still, there it is. It’s 
the truth.” 

“And what about crime?” he continued. 
“If we were all Immortals, what about crime?” 

“Crime will become so horrible in its mean- 
ing that it will stop.” 

“It hasn’t stopped yet. . . .” 

“Of course not. It won’t, till people realize 
they are immortal.” 

He shifted his lantern and shone it down the 
road. 

“Well, sir, it seems to me it will be a long 
time before people realize that . In fact, I 
don’t see how anyone could ever realize it.” 

“Why not?” 

“Just think,” he said, with a large air. 
“Supposing crime died out, what would hap- 
pen to the Sunday papers? Where would 
those lawyers be? What would we do with 
policemen? No, you can’t realize it. You 


THE BLUE GERM 


128 

can’t realize the things you exist for all vanish- 
ing. It’s not human nature.” He brooded 
for a time. “You can’t do away with crime,” 
he continued. “What’s behind crime? 
Woman and gold — one or the other, or both. 
Now you don’t mean to tell me, sir, that the 
Blue Disease is doing away with women and 
gold in a place like Birmingham? Why, sir, 
what made Birmingham? What do you sup- 
pose life is?” 

“I have never been asked the question be- 
fore by a policeman,” I said. “I do not know 
what made Birmingham, but I will tell you 
what life is. It is ultimately a cell, containing 
protoplasm and a nucleus.” 

A low rumbling noise began somewhere in 
his vast bulk. It gradually increased to a roar. 
I became aware that he was laughing. He 
held his sides. I thought his shining belt 
would burst. At length his hilarity slowly 
subsided, and he became sober. He surveyed 
the dead body at his feet. 

“No, sir,” he said, “don’t you believe it. 
Life is women and gold. It always was that, 
and it always will be.” He shone his lamp 
downwards so that the light fell on the terrible 


THE DEAD IMMORTAL 


129 


features of the dead sailor. “Now this man, 
sir, was killed because of money, I’ll wager. 
And behind the money I reckon you’ll find 
a woman.” He mused for a time. “Not 
necessarily a pretty woman, but a woman of 
some sort.” 

“How do you account for that look of fear 
on his face?” 

“I couldn’t say. I’ve never seen anything 
like it. I’ve seen a lot of dead faces, but they 
are usually quiet enough, as if they were asleep. 
But I’ll tell you one thing, sir, that I have 
noticed, and that is that money — which in- 
cludes diamonds and such like, makes a man 
die worse and more bitter than anything else.” 

He turned his lantern down the street. A 
sound of wheels reached us. 

“That’s the ambulance.” 

“Will you really require me at the police 
station?” I asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Will it be necessary to prove who I am?” 

He smiled. 

“You won’t need to prove that you’re a 
doctor, sir,” he said genially. “We have a 
lot to do with doctors. I could tell you were a 


130 


THE BLUE GERM 


doctor after talking a minute with you. You 
are all the same.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well — it’s the things you say. Now only 
a doctor could have said what you did — about 
life being a cell. Do you know, sir, I some- 
times believe that doctors is more innocent 
than parsons. It’s the things they say. . . .” 

The low rumbling began again in his interior. 
I waited silently until the ambulance came up. 
I felt a slight shade of annoyance. But how 
could I expect the enormous uneducated hulk 
beside me to take a really intelligent and 
scientific view of life? Of course life was a 
cell. Every educated person knew that — and 
now that cell was, for the first time in history, 
about to become immortal — but what did the 
policeman care? How stupid people were, I 
reflected. We moved off in a small procession 
towards the police station. Half an hour later 
I was on my way west, deeply pondering on 
the causes of that extraordinary expression of 
fear in the dead sailor’s face. Never in my 
life before had I seen so agonized a counte- 
nance, but I was destined to see others as ter- 
rible. As I walked, the strangeness of the 


THE DEAD IMMORTAL 


131 


dead man’s tragedy grew in my mind and filled 
me with a tremendous wonder, for who bad 
ever seen a dead Immortal? 

On reaching home I roused Sarakoff and 
related to him what I had seen. 


CHAPTER XIV 


FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF IMMORTALITY 

A FTER two hours of sleep I awoke. My 
brief rest had been haunted by unpleasant 
dreams, vague and indefinite, but seeming to 
centre about the idea of an impending catas- 
trophe. I lay in bed staring at the dimly out- 
lined window. I felt quite rested and very 
wide awake. For some time I remained mo- 
tionless, reflecting on my night adventures and 
idly thinking whether it was worth while get- 
ting up and attending to some correspondence 
that was overdue. The prospect of a chilly 
study was not attractive. And then I noticed 
a very peculiar sensation. 

There is only one thing that I can compare 
it with. After a day of exhausting work a 
glass of champagne produces in me an almost 
immediate effect. I feel as if the worries of 
the day are suddenly removed to a great and 
blessed distance. A happy indifference takes 
their place. I felt the same effect as I lay in 

132 


IMPRESSIONS OF IMMORTALITY 133 


bed on that dreary winter’s morning. The 
idea that I should get up and work retreated 
swiftly. A pleasant sense of languor came 
over me. My eyes closed and for some time 
I lay in a blissful state of peace, such as I had 
never experienced before so far as my memory 
could tell. 

I do not know how long I lay in this state, 
but at length a persistent noise made me open 
my eyes. I looked round. It seemed to be 
full daylight now. The first thing I noticed 
was the unusual size of the room. The ceiling 
seemed far above my head. The walls seemed 
to have receded many feet. In my astonish- 
ment I uttered an exclamation. The result 
was startling. My voice seemed to reverber- 
ate and re-echo as if I had shouted with all my 
strength. Considerably startled, I remained 
in a sitting posture, gazing at my unfamiliar 
surroundings. The persistent noise that had 
first roused me continued, and for a long time 
I could not account for it. It appeared to 
come from under my bed. I leaned over the 
edge, but could see nothing. And then, in a 
flash, I knew what it was. It was the sound 
of my watch, that lay under my pillow. 


134 


THE BLUE GERM 


I drew it out and stared at it in a state of 
mystification. Each of its ticks sounded like a 
small hammer striking sharply against a metal 
plate. I held it to my ear and was almost 
deafened. For a moment I wondered whether 
I were not in the throes of some acute nervous 
disorder, in which the senses became sharpened 
to an incredible degree. Such an exultation of 
perception could only be due to some powerful 
intoxicant at work on my body. Was I going 
mad? I laid the watch on the counterpane and 
in the act of doing it, the explanation burst on 
my mind. F or the recollection of Mr. Herbert 
Wain and the Clockdrum suddenly came to me. 
I flung aside the bedclothes, ran to the window 
and drew the curtains. The radiance of the 
day almost blinded me. I pressed my hands 
to my eyes in a kind of agony, feeling that they 
had been seared and destroyed, and dropped 
on my knees. I remained in this position for 
over a minute and then gradually withdrew 
my hands and gazed at the carpet. I dared not 
look up yet. The pattern of the carpet glowed 
in colours more brilliant than I had ever seen 
before. As I knelt there, in attitude of prayer, 
it seemed to me that I had never noticed 


IMPRESSIONS OF IMMORTALITY 135 


colour before; that all my life had been passed 
without any consciousness of colour. At last 
I lifted my sight from the miracle of the carpet 
to the miracle of the day. High overhead, 
through the dingy windowpane, was a patch of 
clear sky, infinitely sweet, remote and inacces- 
sible, framed by golden clouds. As I gazed at 
it an indescribable reverence and joy filled my 
mind. In the purity of the morning light, it 
seemed the most lovely and wonderful thing I 
had ever beheld. And I, Richard Harden, 
consulting physician who had hitherto looked 
on life through a microscope, remained kneel- 
ing on my miraculous carpet, gazing upwards 
at the miraculous heavens. Acting on some 
strange impulse I stretched out my hands, and 
then I saw something which turned me into a 
rigid statue. 

It was in this attitude that Sarakoff found 
me. 

He entered my room violently. His hair 
was tousled and his beard stuck out at a gro- 
tesque angle. He was clad in pink pyjamas, 
and in his hand he carried a silver-backed mir- 
ror. My attitude did not seem to cause him 
any surprise. The door slammed behind him, 


136 


THE BLUE GERM 


with a noise of thunder, and he rushed across 
the room to where I knelt, and stooping, exam- 
ined my finger nails at which I was staring. 

“Good!” he shouted. “Good! Harden, 
you’ve got it too!” 

He pointed triumphantly. Under the nails 
there was a faint tinge of blue, and at the nail- 
bed this was already intense, forming little 
crescent-shaped areas of vivid turquoise. 

Sarakoff sat down on the edge of my bed 
and studied himself attentively in the hand 
mirror. 

“A slight pallor is perceptible in the skin,” 
he announced as if he was dictating a note for 
a medical journal, “and this is due, no doubt, 
to a deposit of the blue pigment in the deeper 
layers of the epidermis. The hair is at present 
unaffected save at the roots. God knows what 
colour blond hair will become. I am anxious 
about Leonora. The expression — I suppose I 
can regard myself as a typical case, Harden — 
is serene, if not animated. Subjectively, one 
may observe a great sense of exhilaration 
coupled with an extraordinary increase in the 
power of perception. You, for example, look 
to me quite different.” 


IMPRESSIONS OF IMMORTALITY 137 


“In what way?” I demanded. 

“Well, as you kneel there, I notice in you 
a kind of angular grandeur, a grotesque touch 
of the sublime, that was not evident to me be- 
fore. If I were a sculptor, I would like to 
model you like that. I cannot explain why — I 
am just saying what I feel. I have never felt 
any impulse towards art until this morning.” 
He twisted his moustache. “Yes, you have 
quite an interesting face, Harden. I can see 
in it evidence that you have suffered intensely. 
You have taken life too seriously. You have 
worked too hard. You are stunted and de- 
formed with work.” 

I regarded him with some astonishment. 

“Work is all very well,” he continued, “but 
this morning I see with singular clarity that it 
is only a means of development. My dear 
Harden, if it is overdone, it simply dwarfs the 
soul. Our generation has not recognized this 
properly.” 

“But you were always an apostle of hard 
work,” I remarked irritably. 

“Maybe.” He made a gesture of dismissal. 
“Now, I am an Immortal, and you are an 
Immortal. The background to life has 


138 


THE BLUE GERM 


changed. Formerly, the idea of death lurked 
constantly in the depths of the unconscious 
mind, and by its vaguely-felt influences spurred 
us on to continual exertion. That is all 
changed. We have, at one stroke, removed 
this dire spectre. We are free.” 

He rose suddenly and flung the mirror across 
the room. 

“What do we need mirrors for?” he cried. 
“It is only when we fear death that we need 
mirrors to tell us how long we have to live.” 
He strode over to me and halted. “You seem 
in no hurry to get up from that carpet,” he 
observed. His remark made me realize that I 
had been kneeling for some minutes. Now 
this was rather odd. I am restless by nature 
and rarely remain in one position for any 
length of time, and to stay like that, kneeling 
before the window, was indeed curious. I got 
up and moved to the dressing-table, thinking. 
Sarakoff must have been thinking in the same 
direction, for he asked me a question. 

“Did you realize you were kneeling?” 

“Yes,” I replied. “I knew what I was do- 
ing. It merely did not occur to me that I 
should change my position.” 


IMPRESSIONS OF IMMORTALITY 139 


“The explanation is simple,” said the Rus- 
sian. “Restlessness, or the idea that we must 
change our position, or that we should be doing 
something else, belongs to the anxious side of 
life; and the anxious side of life is nourished 
and kept vigorous by the latent fear of death. 
All that is removed from you, and therefore 
you see no reason why you should do anything 
until it pleases you.” 

I began to study myself in the glass on the 
dressing-table. The examination interested 
me immensely. There was certainly a marble- 
like hue about the skin. The whites of my eyes 
were distinctly stained, but not so intensely as 
had been the case with Mr. Herbert Wain, 
showing that I had not suffered from the Blue 
Disease as long as he had. But when I began 
to study my reflection from the aesthetic point 
of view, I became deeply engrossed. 

“I don’t agree with you, Sarakoff,” I re- 
marked at length. “We still need mirrors. 
In fact I have never found the mirror so inter- 
esting in my life.” 

“Don’t use that absurd phrase,” he answered. 
“It implies that something other than life 
exists.” 


140 


THE BLUE GERM 


“So it does.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, if I stick this pair of scissors into 
your heart you will die, my dear fellow.” He 
was silent, and a frown began to gather on his 
brow. “Yes,” I continued, “your psychologi- 
cal deductions are not entirely valid. The fear 
of death still exists, but now limited to a small 
sphere. In that sphere, it will operate with 
extreme intensity.” I picked up the scissors 
and made a stealthy movement towards him. 
To my amazement I obtained an immediate 
proof of my theory. He sprang up with a 
loud cry, darted to the door and vanished. F or 
a moment I stood in a state of bewilderment. 
Was it possible that he, with all his size and 
strength, was afraid of me? And then a great 
fit of laughter overcame me and I sank down 
on my bed with the tears coming from my 
eyes. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE TERRIBLE FEAR 

O N coming down to breakfast, I found 
Sarakoff already seated at the table de- 
vouring the morning papers. I picked up a 
discarded one and stood by the fire, glancing 
over its contents. There was only one subject 
of news, and that was the spread of the Blue 
Disease. From every part of the north cases 
were reported, and in London it had broken 
out in several districts. 

“So it’s all come true,” I remarked. 

He nodded, and continued reading. I saun- 
tered to the window. A thin driving snow was 
now falling, and the passers-by were hurrying 
along in the freezing slush, with collars turned 
up and heads bowed before the wind. 

“This is an ideal day to spend indoors by the 
fireside,” I observed. “I think I’ll telephone 
to the hospital and tell Jones to take my work.” 
141 


142 


THE BLUE GERM 


Sarakoff raised his eyes, and then his eye- 
brows. 

“So,” he said, “the busy man suddenly thinks 
work a bother. The power of the germ, Har- 
den, is indeed miraculous.” 

“Do you think my inclination is due to the 
germ?” 

“Beyond a doubt. You were the most over- 
conscientious man I ever knew until this 
morning.” 

For some reason I found this observation 
very interesting. I wished to discuss it, and I 
was about to reply when the door opened and 
my housemaid announced that Dr. Symington- 
Tearle was in the hall and would like an im- 
mediate interview. 

“Shew him in,” I said equably. Symington- 
Tearle usually had a most irritating effect upon 
me, but at the moment I felt totally indifferent 
to him. He entered in his customary manner, 
as if the whole of London were feverishly 
awaiting him. I introduced Sarakoff, but 
Symington-Tearle hardly noticed him. 

“Harden,” he exclaimed in his loud domi- 
nating tones, “I am convinced that there is no 
such thing as this Blue Disease. I believe it 


THE TERRIBLE FEAR 


143 


all to be a colossal plant. Some practical 
joker has introduced a chemical into the water 
supply.” 

“Probably,” I murmured, still thinking of 
Sarakoff’s observation. 

“I’m going to expose the whole thing in the 
evening papers ; I examined a case yesterday — 
a man called Wain — and was convinced there 
was nothing wrong with him. He was really 
pigmented. And what is it but mere pigmen- 
tation?” He passed his hand over his brow 
and frowned. “Yes, yes,” he continued, 
“that’s what it is — a colossal joke. We’ve all 
been taken in by it — everyone except me.” 
He sat down by the breakfast table suddenly 
and once more passed his hand over his 
brow. 

“What was I saying?” he asked. 

Sarakoff and I were now watching him in- 
tently. 

“That the Blue Disease was a joke,” I said. 

“Ah, yes — a joke.” He looked up at Sara- 
koff and stared for a moment. “Do you 
know,” he said, “I believe it really is a joke.” 

An expression of intense solemnity came 
over his face, and he sat motionless gazing in 


144 


THE BLUE GERM 


front of him with unblinking eyes. I crossed 
to where he sat and peered at his face. 

“I thought so,” I remarked. “You’ve got 
it too.” 

“Got what?” 

“The Blue Disease. I suppose you caught 
it from Wain, as we did.” I picked up one 
of his hands and pointed to the faintly-tinted 
fingernails. Dr. Symington-Tearle stared at 
them with an air of such child-like simplicity 
and gravity that Sarakoff and I broke into loud 
laughter. 

The humour of the situation passed with a 
peculiar suddenness and we ceased laughing 
abruptly. I sat down at the table, and for 
some time the three of us gazed at one another 
and said nothing. The spirit-lamp that heated 
the silver dish of bacon upon the table spurted 
at intervals and I saw Symington-Tearle stare 
at it in faint surprise. 

“Does it sound very loud?” asked Sarakoff 
at length. 

“Extraordinarily loud. And upon my soul 
your voice nearly deafens me.” 

“It will pass,” I said. “One gets adjusted 


THE TERRIBLE FEAR 


145 


to the extreme sensitiveness in a short time. 
How do you feel?” 

“I feel,” said Symington-Tearle slowly, “as 
if I were newly constructed from the crown of 
my head to the soles of my feet. After a 
Turkish bath and twenty minutes’ massage I’ve 
experienced a little of the feeling.” 

He stared at Sarakoff, then at me, and fi- 
nally at the spirit lamp. We must have pre- 
sented an odd spectacle. For there we sat, 
three men who, under ordinary circumstances, 
were extremely busy and active, lolling round 
the unfinished breakfast table while the hands 
of the clock travelled relentlessly onward. 

Relentlessly? That was scarcely correct. 
To me, owing to some mysterious change that 
I cannot explain, the clock had ceased to be a 
tyrannous and hateful monster. I did not care 
how fast it went or to what hour it pointed. 
Time was no longer precious, any more than 
the sand of the sea is precious. 

“Aren’t you going to have any breakfast?” 
asked Symington-Tearle. 

“I’m not in the least hurry,” replied Sara- 
koff. “I think I’ll take a sip of coffee. Are 
you hungry, Harden?” 


146 


THE BLUE GERM 


“No. I don’t want anything save coffee. 
But I’m in no hurry.” 

My housemaid entered and announced that 
the gentleman who had been waiting in Dr. 
Symington-Tearle’s car, and was now in the 
hall, wished to know if the doctor would be long. 

“Oh, that is a patient of mine,” said Sym- 
ington-Tearle, “ask him to come in.” 

A large, stout, red-faced gentleman entered, 
wrapped in a thick frieze motor coat. He 
nodded to us briefly. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but time’s 
getting on, Tearle. My consultation with Sir 
Peverly Salt was for half past nine, if you 
remember. It’s that now.” 

“Oh, there’s plenty of time,” said Tearle. 
“Sit down, Ballard. It’s nice and warm in 
here.” 

“It may be nice and warm,” replied Mr. 
Ballard loudly, “but I don’t want to keep Sir 
Peverly waiting.” 

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t keep him 
waiting,” said Tearle. “In fact I really don’t 
see why you should go to him at all.” 

Mr. Ballard stared for a moment. Then 
his eyes travelled round the table and dwelt 


THE TERRIBLE FEAR 


147 


first on Sarakoff and then on me. I suppose 
something in our manner rather baffled him, 
but outwardly he shewed no sign of it. 

“I don’t quite follow you,” he said, fixing 
his gaze upon Tearle again. “If you recollect, 
you advised me strongly four days ago to 
consult Sir Peverly Salt about the condition of 
my heart, and you impressed upon me that his 
opinion was the best that was obtainable. You 
rang him up and an appointment was fixed for 
this morning at half-past nine, and I was told 
to call on you shortly after nine.” 

He paused, and once more his eyes dwelt 
in turn upon each of us. They returned to 
Tearle. “It is now twenty-five minutes to 
ten,” he said. His face had become redder, 
and his voice louder. “And I understood that 
Sir Peverly is a very busy man.” 

“He certainly is busy,” said Tearle. “He’s 
far too busy. It is very interesting to think 
that business is only necessary in so far ” 

“Look here,” said Mr. Ballard violently. 
“I’m a man with a short temper. I’m hanged 
if I’ll stand this nonsense. What the devil do 
you think you’re all doing? Are you playing 
a joke on me?” 


148 


THE BLUE GERM 


He glared round at us, and then he made a 
sudden movement towards the table. In a 
moment we were all on our feet. I felt an 
acute terror seize me, and without waiting to 
see what happened, I flung open the door that 
led into my consulting room, darted to the 
further door, across the hall and up to my bed- 
room. 

There was a cry and a rush of feet across 
the hall. Mr. Ballard’s voice rang out storm- 
ily. A door slammed, and then another door, 
and then all was silent. 

I became aware of a movement behind me, 
and looking round sharply, I saw my house- 
maid Lottie staring at me in amazement. She 
had been engaged in making the bed. 

“Whatever is the matter, sir?” she asked. 

“Hush!” I whispered. “There’s a danger- 
ous man downstairs.” 

I turned the key in the lock, listened for a 
moment, and then tip-toed my way across the 
floor to a chair. My limbs were shaking. It 
is difficult to describe the intensity of my terror. 
There was a cold sweat on my forehead. “He 
might have killed me. Think of that!” 

Her eyes were fixed on me. 


THE TERRIBLE FEAR 


149 


“Oh, sir, you do look bad,” she exclaimed. 
“Whatever has happened to you?” She came 
nearer and gazed into my eyes. “They’re all 
blue, sir. It must be that disease you’ve got.” 

A sudden irritation flashed over me. 
“Don’t stare at me like that. You’ll have it 
yourself to-morrow,” I shouted. “The whole 
of the blessed city will have it.” A loud rap at 
the door interrupted me. I jumped up, darted 
across the room and threw myself under the 
bed. “Don’t let anyone in,” I whispered. 
The rap was repeated. Sarakoff’s voice 
sounded without. 

“Let me in. It’s all right. He’s gone. 
The front door is bolted.” I crawled out and 
unlocked the door. Sarakoff, looking rather 
pale, was standing in the passage. He carried 
a poker. “Symington-Tearle’s in the coal- 
cellar,” he announced. “He won’t come out.” 

I wiped my brow with a handkerchief. 

“Good heavens, Sarakoff,” I exclaimed, 
“this kind of thing will lead to endless trouble. 
I had no idea the terror would be so uncon- 
trollable.” 

“I’m glad you feel it as I do,” said the 
Russian. “When you threatened me with a 


150 THE BLUE GERM 

pair of scissors this morning I felt mad with 
fear.” 

“It’s awful,” I murmured. “We can’t be 
too careful.” We began to descend the stairs. 
“Sarakoff, you remember I told you about that 
dead sailor? I see now why that expression 
was on his face. It was the terror that he 
felt.” 

“Extraordinary!” he muttered. “He 
couldn’t have known. It must have been in- 
stinctive.” 

“Instincts are like that,” I said. “I don’t 
suppose an animal knows anything about 
death, or even thinks of it, yet it behaves from 
the very first as if it knew. It’s odd.” 

A door opened at the far end of the hall, 
and Symington-Tearle emerged. There was 
a patch of coal-dust on his forehead. His hair, 
usually so flat and smooth that it seemed like a 
brass mirror, was now disordered. 

“Has he gone?” he enquired hoarsely. 

We nodded. I pointed to the chain on the 
door. 

“It’s bolted,” I said. “Come into the 
study.” 

I led the way into the room. Tearle walked 


THE TERRIBLE FEAR 


151 


to the window, then to a chair, and finally took 
up a position before the fire. 

“This is extraordinary!” he exclaimed. 

“What do you make of it?” I asked. 

“I can make nothing of it. What’s the 
matter with me? I never felt anything like 
that terror that came over me when Ballard 
approached me.” 

Sarakoff took out a large handkerchief and 
passed it across his face. “It’s only the fear 
of physical violence,” he said. “That’s the 
only weak spot. Fear was formerly dis- 
tributed over a wide variety of possibilities, but 
now it’s all concentrated in one direction.” 

“Why?” Tearle stared at me questioningly. 

“Because the germ is in us,” I said. “We’re 
immortal.” 

“Immortal?” 

Sarakoff threw out his hands, and flung back 
his head. “Immortals!” 

I crossed to my writing-table, and picked up 
a heavy volume. 

“Here is the first edition of Buckwell Pink’s 
System of Medicine . This book was produced 
at immense cost and labour, and it is to be 


152 


THE BLUE GERM 


published next week. When that book is pub- 
lished no one will buy it.” 

“Why not?” demanded Tearle. “I wrote 
an article in it myself.” 

“So did I,” was my reply. “But that won’t 
make any difference. No member of the medi- 
cal profession will be interested in it.” 

“Not interested? I can’t believe that. It 
contains all the recent work.” 

“The medical profession will not be inter- 
ested in it for a very simple reason. The medi- 
cal profession will have ceased to exist.” 

A look of amazement came to Tearle’s face. 
I tapped the volume and continued. 

“You are wrong in thinking it contains all 
the recent work. It does not. The last and 
greatest achievement of medical science is not 
recorded in these pages. It is only recorded in 
ourselves. For that blue pigmentation in your 
eyes and fingers is due to the Sarakoff-Harden 
bacillus which closes once and for all the chap- 
ter of medicine.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE VISIT OF THE HOME SECRETARY 

I X a few hours the initial effects of stimula- 
tion had worn off. The acuity of hearing 
was no longer so pronounced and the sense of 
refreshment, although still present, was not in- 
tense. We were already becoming adjusted 
to the new condition. The feeling of inertia 
and irresponsibility became gradually replaced 
by a general sense of calmness. To me, it 
seemed as if I had entered a world of new per- 
spectives, a larger world in which space and 
time were widened out immeasurably. I could 
scarcely recall the nature of those impulses that 
had once driven me to and fro in endless activi- 
ties, and in a constant state of anxiety. For 
now I had no anxiety. 

It is difficult to describe fully the extraor- 
dinary sense of freedom that came from this 
change. For anxiety — the great modern emo- 
tion — is something that besets a life on all sides 
so silently and so continuously that it escapes 

153 


154 


THE BLUE GERM 


direct detection. But it is there, tightening 
the muscles, crinkling the skin, quickening the 
heart and shortening the breath. Though al- 
most imperceptible, it lurks under the most 
agreeable surroundings, requiring only a word 
or a look to bring it into the light. To be free 
from it — ah, that was an experience that no 
man could ever forget! It was perhaps the 
nearest approach to that condition of bliss, 
which many expect in one of the Heavens, that 
had ever been attained on earth. As long as no 
physical danger threatened, this bliss-state sur- 
rounded me. Its opposite, that condition of 
violent, agonizing, uncontrollable fear that sud- 
denly surged over one on the approach of 
bodily danger, was something which passed as 
swiftly as it came, and left scarcely a trace be- 
hind it. But of that I shall have more to say, 
for it produced the most extraordinary state of 
affairs and more than anything else threatened 
to disorganize life completely. 

I fancy Sarakoff was more awed by the bliss- 
state than I was. During the rest of the day 
he was very quiet and sat gazing before him. 
His boisterousness had vanished. Symington- 
Tearle had left us — a man deeply amazed and 


VISIT OF HOME SECRETARY 155 

totally incredulous. I noticed that Sarakoff 
scarcely smoked at all during that morning. 
As a rule his pipe was never out. He was in 
the habit of consuming two ounces of tobacco a 
day, which in my opinion was suicidal. He 
certainly lit his pipe several times, mechani- 
cally, but laid it aside almost immediately. At 
lunch — we had not moved out of the house yet 
— we had very little appetite. As a matter of 
interest I will give exactly what we ate and 
drank. Sarakoff took some soup and a piece 
of bread, and then some cheese. I began with 
some cold beef, and finding it unattractive, 
pushed it away and ate some biscuits and but- 
ter. There was claret on the table. I wish 
.here to call attention to a passing impression 
that I experienced when sipping that claret. 
I had recently got in several dozen bottles of it 
and on that day regretted it because it seemed 
to me to be extremely poor stuff. It tasted 
sour and harsh. 

We did not talk much. It was not because 
my mind was devoid of ideas, but rather be- 
cause I was feeling that I had a prodigious, in- 
calculable amount to think about. Perhaps it 
was the freedom from anxiety that made think- 


156 


THE BLUE GERM 


ing easier, for there is little doubt that anxiety, 
however masked, deflects and disturbs the 
power of thought more than anything else. 
Indeed it seemed to me that I had never really 
thought clearly before. To begin a conversa- 
tion with Sarakoff seemed utterly artificial. 
It would have been a useless interruption. I 
was entirely absorbed. 

Sarakoff was similarly absorbed. When, 
therefore, the servant came in to announce that 
two gentlemen wished to see us, and were in 
the waiting-room, we were loth to move. I 
got up at length and went across the hall. I 
recollect that before entering the waiting-room 
I was entirely without curiosity. It was a 
matter of total indifference to me that two 
visitors were within. They had no business to 
interrupt me — that was my feeling. They 
were intruders and should have known better. 

I entered the room. Standing by the fire 
was Lord Alberan. Beside him was a tall thin 
man, carefully dressed and something of a 
dandy, who looked at me sharply as I came 
across the room. I recognized his face, but 
failed to recall his name. 


VISIT OF HOME SECRETARY 157 


Lord Alberan, holding himself very stiffly, 
cleared his throat. 

“Good day, Dr. Harden,’’ he said, with- 
out offering his hand. “I have brought Sir 
Robert Smith to interview you. As you may 
know he is the Home Secretary.” He cleared 
his throat again, and his face became rather 
red. “I have reported to the Home Secretary 
the information that I — er — that I acquired 
from you and your Russian companion con- 
cerning this epidemic that has swept over Bir- 
mingham and is now threatening London.” 
He paused and stared at me. His eyes bulged. 
“Good heavens,” he exclaimed, “you’ve got it 
yourself.” 

Sir Robert Smith took a step towards me 
and examined my face attentively. 

“Yes,” he said, “there’s no doubt you’ve 
got it.” 

I indicated some chairs with a calm gesture. 

“Won’t you sit down?” 

Lord Alberan refused, but Sir Robert 
lowered himself gracefully into an arm-chair 
and crossed his legs. 

“Dr. Harden,” he said, in smooth and 
pleasant tones, “I wish you to understand that 


158 


THE BLUE GERM 


I come here, at this unusual hour, solely in the 
spirit of one who desires to get all the informa- 
tion possible concerning the malady, called the 
Blue Disease, which is now sweeping over Eng- 
land. I understand from my friend Lord 
Alberan, that you know something about it.” 

“That is true.” 

“How much do you know?” 

“I know all there is to be known.” 

“Ah!” Sir Robert leaned forward. Lord 
Alberan nodded violently and glared at me. 
There was a pause. “What you say is very 
interesting,” said Sir Robert at length, keeping 
his eyes fixed upon me. “You understand, of 
course, that the Blue Disease is causing a lot 
of anxiety?” 

“Anxiety?” I exclaimed. “Surely you are 
wrong. It has the opposite effect. It abol- 
ishes anxiety.” 

“You mean ?” he queried politely. 

“I mean that the germ, when once in the 
system, produces an atmosphere of extraor- 
dinary calm,” I returned. “I am aware of 
that atmosphere at this moment. I have never 
felt so perfectly tranquil before.” 

He nodded, without moving his eyes. 


VISIT OF HOME SECRETARY 159 


“So I see. You struck me, as you came 
into the room, as a man who is at peace with 
himself.” Lord Alberan snorted, and was 
about to speak, but Sir Robert held up his 
hand. “Tell me, Dr. Harden, did you actu- 
ally contaminate the water of Birmingham?” 

“My friend Sarakoff and I introduced the 
germ that we discovered into the Elan reser- 
voirs.” 

“With what object?” 

“To endow humanity with the gift of im- 
mortality.” 

“Ah!” he nodded gently. “The gift of im- 
mortality.” He mused for a moment, and 
never once did his eyes leave my face. “That 
is interesting,” he continued. “I recollect that 
at the International Congress at Moscow, a 
few years ago, there was much talk about 
longevity. Virchow, I fancy, and Nikola 
Tesla made some suggestive remarks. So you 
think you have discovered the secret?” 

“I am sure.” 

“Of course you use the term immortality in 
a relative sense? You mean that the — er — 
germ that you discovered confers a long life on 
those it attacks?” 


160 


THE BLUE GERM 


“I mean what I say. It confers immortal- 
ity.” 

“Indeed!” His expression remained per- 
fectly polite and interested, but his eyes turned 
for a brief moment in the direction of Lord 
Alberan. “So you are now immortal, Dr. 
Harden ?” 

“Yes.” 

“And will you, in such circumstances, go on 
practising medicine — indefinitely ?” 

“No. There will be no medicine to prac- 
tise.” 

“Ah!” he nodded. “I see — the germ does 
away with disease. Quite so.” He leaned 
back in the chair and pressed his finger tips 
together. “I suppose,” he continued, “that 
you are aware that what you say is very diffi- 
cult to believe?” 

“Why?” 

“Well, the artificial prolongation of life is, I 
believe, a possibility that we are all prepared to 
accept. By special methods we may live a few 
extra years, and everything goes to show that 
we are actually living longer than our ances- 
tors. At least I believe so. But for a man of 
your position, Dr. Harden, to say that the epi- 


VISIT OF HOME SECRETARY 161 


demic is an epidemic of immortality, is, in my 
opinion, an extravagant statement.” 

“You are entitled to any opinion you like,” I 
replied tranquilly. “It is possible to live with 
totally erroneous opinions. For all I know 
you may think the earth is square. It makes 
no difference to me.” 

“What do you mean, sir?” exclaimed Lord 
Alberan. He had become exceedingly red 
during our conversation and the lower part of 
his face had begun to swell. “Be careful what 
you say,” he continued violently. “You are 
in danger of being arrested, sir. Either that, 
or being locked in an asylum.” 

The Home Secretary raised a restraining 
hand. 

“One moment. Lord Alberan,” he said, “I 
have not quite finished. Dr. Harden, will you 
be so good as to ask your friend — his name is 
Sarakoff, I believe — to come in here?” 

I rose without haste and fetched the Rus- 
sian. He behaved in an extremely quiet man- 
ner, nodded to Alberan and bowed to the Home 
Secretary. 

Sir Robert gave a brief outline of the con- 
versation he had had with me, which Sarakoff 


162 THE BLUE GERM 

listened to with an absolutely expressionless 
face. 

“I see that you also suffer from the epi- 
demic, ” said Sir Robert. “Are you, then, im- 
mortal?” 

“I am an Immortal,” said the Russian, in 
deep tones. “You will be immortal to-mor- 
row.” 

“I quite understand that I will probably 
catch the Blue Disease,” said Sir Robert, 
suavely. “At present there are cases reported 
all over London, and we are at a loss to know 
what to do.” 

“You can do nothing,” I said. 

“We had thought of forming isolation 
camps.” He stared at us thoughtfully. 
There was a slightly puzzled look in his face. 
It was the first time I had noticed it. It must 
have been due to Sarakoff’s profound calm. 
“How did you gentlemen find the germ?” he 
asked suddenly. 

Sarakoff reflected. 

“It would take perhaps a week to explain.” 

Sir Robert smiled slightly. 

“I’m afraid I am too busy,” he murmured. 


VISIT OF HOME SECRETARY 163 


“You are wasting your time,” muttered 
Alberan in his ear. “Arrest them.” 

The Home Secretary took no notice. 

“It is curious that this epidemic seems to cut 
short other diseases,” he said slowly. “That 
rather supports what you tell me.” 

His eyes rested searchingly on my face. 

“You are foolish to refuse to believe us,” I 
said. “We have told you the truth.” 

“It would be very strange if it were true.” 
He walked to the window and stood for a 
moment looking on to the street. Then he 
turned with a movement of resolution. “I will 
not trespass on your time,” he said. “Lord 
Alberan, we need not stay. I am satisfied with 
what these gentlemen have said.” He bowed 
to us and went to the door. Lord Alberan, 
very fierce and upright, followed him. The 
Home Secretary paused and looked back. 
The puzzled look had returned to his face. 

“The matter is to be discussed in the House 
to-night,” he said. “I think that it will be as 
well for you if I say nothing of what you have 
told me. People might he angry.” W e gazed 
at him unmoved. He took a sudden step 
towards us and held out his hands. “Come 


164 > 


THE BLUE GERM 


now, gentlemen, tell me the truth. You 
invented that story, didn’t you?” Neither of 
us spoke. He looked appealingly at me, and 
with a laugh left the room. He turned, how- 
ever, in a moment, and stood looking at me. 
“There is a meeting at the Queen’s Hall to- 
night,” he said slowly. “It is a medical confer- 
ence on the Blue Disease. No doubt you 
know of it. I am going to ask you a ques- 
tion.” He paused and smiled at Sarakoff. 
“Will you gentlemen make a statement be- 
fore those doctors to-night?” 

“We intended to do so,” said Sarakoff. 

“I am delighted to hear it,” said the Home 
Secretary. “It is a great relief to me. They 
will know how best to deal with you. Good 
day.” 

He left the room. 

I heard the front door close and then brisk 
footsteps passing the window on the pavement 
outside. 

“There’s no doubt that they’re both a little 
mad.” Sir Robert’s voice sounded for a mo- 
ment, and then died away. 


CHAPTER XVII 


clutterbuck’s odd behaviour 

S CARCELY had the Home Secretary de- 
parted when my maid announced that a 
patient was waiting to see me in my study. 

I left Sarakoff sitting tranquilly in the wait- 
ing-room and entered the study. A grave, 
precise, clean-shaven man was standing by the 
window. He turned as I entered. It was 
Mr. Clutterbuck. 

“So you are Dr. Harden!” he exclaimed. 

He stopped and looked confused. 

“Yes,” I said; “please sit down, Mr. Clutter- 
buck.” 

He did so, twisting his hat awkwardly and 
gazing at the floor. 

“I owe you an apology,” he said at length. 
“I came to consult you, little expecting to find 
that it was you after all — that you were Dr. 
Harden. I must apologize for my rudeness to 
165 


166 


THE BLUE GERM 


you in the tea-shop, hut what you said was so 
extraordinary . . • you could not expect me 
to believe.” 

He glanced at me, and then looked away. 
There was a dull flush on his face. 

“Please do not apologize. What did you 
wish to consult me about?” 

“About my wife.” 

“Is she worse?” 

“No.” He dropped his hat, recovered it, 
and finally set it upon a corner of the table. 
“No, she is not worse. In fact, she is the re- 
verse. She is better.” 

I waited, feeling only a mild interest in the 
cause of his agitation. 

“She has got the Blue Disease,” he con- 
tinued, speaking with difficulty. “She got it 
yesterday and since then she has been much bet- 
ter. Her cough has ceased. She — er — she is 
wonderfully better.” He began to drum with 
his fingers on his knee, and looked with a 
vacant gaze at the corner of the room. “Yes, 
she is certainly better. I was wondering 
if ” 

There was a silence. 

“Yes?” 


CLUTTERBUCK’S BEHAVIOUR 167 


He started and looked at me. 

“Why, you’ve got it, too!” he exclaimed. 
“How extraordinary! I hadn’t noticed it.” 
He got to his feet and went to the window. 
“I suppose I shall get it next,” he muttered. 

“Certainly, you’ll get it.” 

He nodded, and continued to stare out of the 
window. At length he spoke. 

“My wife is a woman who has suffered a 
great deal, Dr. Harden. I have never had 
enough money to send her to health resorts, and 
she has always refused to avail herself of any 
institutional help. For the last year she has 
been confined to a room on the top floor of our 
house — a nice, pleasant room — and it has been 
an understood thing between Dr. Sykes and 
myself that her malady was to be given a con- 
venient name. In fact, we had called it a 
weak heart. You understand, of course.” 

“Perfectly.” 

“I have always been led to expect that the 
end was inevitable,” he continued, speaking 
with sudden rapidity. “Under such circum- 
stances I made certain plans. I am a careful 
man. Dr. Harden, and I look ahead and lay my 
plans.” He stopped abruptly and turned to 


168 


THE BLUE GERM 


face me. “Is there any truth in what you told 
me the other day?” 

I nodded. A curiously haggard expression 
came over him. He stepped swiftly towards 
me and caught my arm. 

“Does the germ cure disease?” 

“Of course. Your wife is now immortal. 
You need not be alarmed, Mr. Clutterbuck. 
She is immortal. Before her lies a future abso- 
lutely free from suffering. She will rapidly 
regain her normal health and strength. Pro- 
vided she avoids accidents, your wife will live 
for ever.” 

“My wife will live for ever?” he repeated 
hoarsely. “Then what will happen to me?” 

“You, too, will live for ever,” I said calmly. 
“Please do not grasp my arm so violently.” 

He drew back. He was extremely pale, 
and there were beads of perspiration on his 
brow. 

“Are you married?” he asked. 

“No.” 

“Have you any idea what all this means 
to me if what you say is true?” he exclaimed. 
He drew his hand across his eyes. “I am mad 
to believe you for an instant. But she is better 


CLUTTERBUCK’S BEHAVIOUR 169 


— there is no denying that. Good God, if it is 
true, what a tragedy you have made of human 
lives!” 

He remained standing in the middle of the 
room, and I, not comprehending, gazed at him. 
Then, of a sudden, he picked up his hat, and 
muttering something, dashed out and vanished. 

I heard the front door bang. Perfectly 
calm and undisturbed, I rejoined Sarakoff in 
the waiting-room. The incident of Mr. Clut- 
terbuck passed totally from my mind, and I 
began to reflect on certain problems arising out 
of the visit of the Home Secretary. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


IMMORTAL LOVE 

O PT the same afternoon Miss Annot paid me 
a visit. I was still sitting in the waiting- 
room, and Sarakoff was with me. My mind 
had been deeply occupied with the question of 
the larger beliefs that we hold. For it had 
come to me with peculiar force that law and 
order, and officials like the Home Secretary, 
are concerned only with the small beliefs of 
humanity, with the burdensome business of ma- 
terial life. As long as a man dressed properly, 
walked decently and paid correctly, he was ac- 
cepted, in spite of the fact that he might firmly 
believe the world was square. No one wor- 
ried about those matters. We judge people 
ultimately by how they eat and drink and get 
up and sit down. What they say is of little 
importance in the long run. If we examine a 
person professionally, we merely ask him what 
day it is, where he is, what is his name and 
where he was born. We watch him to see if he 
170 


IMMORTAL LOVE 


171 


washes, undresses and dresses, and eats prop- 
erly. We ask him to add two and two, and to 
divide six by three, and then we solemnly give 
our verdict that he is either sane or insane. 

The enormity of this revelation engrossed 
me with an almost painful activity of thought. 

I gazed across at Sarakoff and wondered 
what appalling gulf divided our views on su- 
preme things. What view did he really take 
of women? Did he or did he not think that the 
planets and stars were inhabited? Did he be- 
lieve in the evolution of the soul like Mr. 
Thornduck? 

A kind of horror possessed me as I stared at 
him and reflected that these questions had 
never entered my consciousness until that mo- 
ment. I had lived with him and dined with 
him and worked with him, and yet hitherto it 
would have concerned me far more if I had 
seen him tuck his napkin under his collar or 
spit on the carpet. . . . What laughable little 
folk we were! I, who had always seen man as 
the last and final expression of evolution, now 
saw him as the stumbling, crawling, incredibly 
stupid, result of a tentative experiment — a first 
step up a ladder of infinitive length. 


m 


THE BLUE GERM 


Whilst I was immersed in the humiliation of 
these thoughts Miss Annot entered. She wore 
a dark violet coat and skirt and a black hat. I 
noticed that her complexion, usually somewhat 
muddy, was perfectly clear, though of a marble 
pallor. We greeted each other quietly and I 
introduced Sarakoff. 

“So you are an Immortal, Alice,” I said, 
smiling. She gazed at me. 

“Richard, I do not know what I am, but I 
know one thing; I am entirely changed. 
Some strange miracle has been wrought in me. 
I came to ask you what it is.” 

“You see that both Professor Sarakoff and I 
have got the germ in our systems like you, 
Alice. Yes, it is a miracle; we are Immor- 
tals.” , 

I studied her face attentively; she had 
changed. It seemed to me that she was an- 
other woman, she moved in a new way, her 
speech was unhurried, her gaze was direct and 
thoughtful. I recalled her former appearance 
when her manner had been nervous and bash- 
ful, her eyes downcast, her movements hurried 
and anxious. 


IMMORTAL LOVE 173 

“I do not understand,” she said. “Tell me 
all you know.” 

I did so. I suppose I must have talked for 
an hour on end. Throughout that time neither 
she nor Sarakoff stirred. When I had finished 
there was a long silence. 

“It is funny to think of our last meeting, 
Richard,” she said at length. “Do you re- 
member how my father behaved? He is dif- 
ferent now. He sits all day in his study — he 
eats very little. He seems to be in a dream.” 

“And you?” I asked. 

“I am in a dream, too. I do not understand 
it. All the things I used to busy myself with 
seem unimportant.” 

“That is how we feel,” said Sarakoff. He 
rose to his feet and spoke strongly. “Harden, 
as Miss Annot says, everything has changed. 
I never foresaw this; I do not understand it 
myself.” 

He went slowly to the mantelpiece and 
leaned against it. 

“When I created this germ, I saw in my 
mind an ideal picture of life. I saw a world 
freed from a dire spectre, a world from which 
fear had been removed, the fear of death. I 


174 


THE BLUE GERM 


saw the great triumph of materialism and the 
final smashing up of all superstition. A man 
would live in a state of absolute certainty. He 
would lay his plans for pleasure and comfort 
and enjoyment with absolute precision, know- 
ing — not hoping — but certainly knowing, that 
they would come about. I saw cities and gar- 
dens built in triumph to cater for the gratifica- 
tion of every sense. I saw new laws in opera- 
tion, constructed by men who knew that they 
had mastered the secret of life and had nothing 
to fear. I saw all those things about which we 
are so timid and vague — marriage and divorce, 
the education of children, luxury, the working 
classes, religion and so on — absolutely settled 
in black and white. I saw what I thought to 
be the millennium.” 

“And now?” asked Alice. 

“Now I see nothing. I am in the dark. 
I do not understand what has happened to 
me. 

“What we are in for now, no man can say,” 
I remarked. 

“It’s the extraordinary restfulness that 
puzzles me,” said Sarakoff. “Here I have 


IMMORTAL LOVE 175 

been sitting for hours and I feel no inclination 
to do anything.” 

“The thing that is most extraordinary to me 
is the difficulty I have in realizing how I spent 
my time formerly,” said Alice. “Of course, 
father is no bother now and meals have been 
cut down, but that does not account for all of 
it. It seems as if I had been living in a kind 
of nightmare in the past, from which I have 
suddenly escaped.” 

“What do you feel most inclined to do?” I 
asked. 

“Nothing at present. I sit and think. It 
was difficult for me to make myself come here 
to-day.” She smiled suddenly. “Richard, it 
seems strange to recall that we were engaged.” 

She spoke without any embarrassment and I 
answered her with equal ease. 

“I hope you don’t think our engagement is 
broken off, Alice. I think my feelings towards 
you are unchanged.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Sarakoff. “That is inter- 
esting. Are you sure of that, Harden?” 

“Not altogether,” I answered tranquilly. 
“There is a lot to think out before I can be 


176 


THE BLUE GERM 


sure, but I know that I feel towards Alice a 
great sympathy.” 

“Sympathy!” the Russian exclaimed. 
“What are we coming to? Good heavens! 
Is sympathy to be our strongest emotion? 
What do you think, Miss Annot.” 

“Sympathy is exactly what I feel,” she re- 
plied. “Richard and I would be very good 
companions. Isn’t that more important than 
passion?” 

“Is sympathy to be the bond between the 
sexes, then, and is all passion and romance to 
die?” he exclaimed scornfully. He seemed to 
be struggling with himself, as if he were trying 
to throw off some spell that held him. “Surely 
I seem to recollect that yesterday life contained 
some richer emotions than sympathy,” he mut- 
tered. “What has come over us? Why 
doesn’t my blood quicken when I think of 
Leonora?” He burst into a laugh. “Har- 
den, this is comic. There is no other word for 
it. It is simply comic.” 

“It may be comic, Sarakoff, but to speak 
candidly, I prefer my state to-day to my state 
yesterday. Last night seems to me like a bad 
dream.” I got to my feet. “There is one 


IMMORTAL LOVE 


177 


thing I must see about as soon as possible, and 
that is getting rid of this house. What an ab- 
surd place to live in this is! It is a comic 
house, if you like — like a tomb.” 

The room seemed suddenly absurd. It was 
very dark, the wallpaper was of a heavy- 
moulded variety, sombre in hue and covered 
with meaningless figuring. The ceiling was 
oppressive. It, too, was moulded in some fan- 
tastic manner. Several large faded oil-paint- 
ings hung on the wall. I do not know why 
they hung there, they were hideous and mean- 
ingless as well. The whole place was mean- 
ingless. It was the meaninglessness that 
seemed to leap out upon me wherever I turned 
my eyes. The fireplace astounded me. It 
was a mass of pillars and super-structures and 
carvings, increasing in complexity from within 
outwards, until it attained the appearance of 
an ornate temple in the centre of which burned 
a little coal. It was grotesque. On the top- 
most ledges of this monstrous absurdity stood 
two vases. They bulged like distended stom- 
achs, covered on their outsides with yellow, 
green and black splotches of colour. I recol- 
lected that I paid ten pounds apiece for them. 


178 


THE BLUE GERM 


Under what perverted impulse had I done 
that? My memories became incredible. I 
moved deliberately to the mantelpiece and 
seized the vases. I opened the window and 
hurled them out on to the pavement. They 
fell with a crash, and their fragments littered 
the ground. 

Alice expressed no surprise. 

“It is rather comic,” said the Russian, “but 
where are you going to live?” 

“Alice and I will go and live by the sea. 
We have plenty to think about. I feel as if I 
could never stop thinking, as if I had to dig 
away a mountain of thought with a spade. 
Alice, we will go round to the house agent 
now.” 

When Alice and I left the house the remains 
of the vases littered the pavement at our feet. 
We walked down Harley Street. The house 
agent lived in Regent Street. It was now a 
clear, crisp afternoon with a pleasant tint of 
sunlight in the air. A newspaper boy passed, 
calling something unintelligible in an excited 
voice. I stopped him and bought a paper. 

“What an inhuman noise to make,” said 


IMMORTAL LOVE 


179 


Alice. “It seems to jar on every nerve in my 
body. Do ask him to stop.” 

“You’re making too much noise,” I said to 
the lad. “You must call softly. It is an out- 
rage to scream like that.” 

He stared up at me, an impudent amazed 
face surmounting a tattered and dishevelled 
body, and spoke. 

“You two do look a couple of guys, wiv’ yer 
blue faices. If some of them doctors round 
’ere catches yer, they’ll pop yer into ’ospital.” 

He ran off, shrieking his unintelligible 
jargon. 

“We must get to the sea,” I said firmly. 
“This clamour of London is unbearable.” 

I opened the paper. Enormous headlines 
stared me in the face. 

“Blue Disease sweeping over London. Ten 
thousand cases reported to-day. Europe 
alarmed. Question of the isolation of Great 
Britain under discussion. Debate in the Com- 
mons to-night. The Duke of Thud and the 
Earl of Blunder victims. The Royal Family 
leave London.” 

We stood together on the pavement and 
gazed at these statements in silence. A sense 


180 


THE BLUE GERM 


of wonder filled my mind. What a confusion! 
What an emotional, feverish, heated confusion ! 
Why could not they take the matter calmly? 
What, in the name of goodness, was the reason 
of this panic? They knew that the Blue Dis- 
ease had caused no fatalities in Birmingham, 
and yet so totally absent was the power of 
thought and deduction, that they actually 
printed those glaring headlines. 

“The fools,” I said. “The amazing, fatuous 
fools. They simply want to sell the paper. 
They have no other idea.” 

A strong nausea came over me. I crumpled 
up the paper and stood staring up and down 
the street. The newspaper boy was in the far 
distance, still shrieking. I saw Sir Barnaby 
Burtle, the obstetrician, standing by his scarlet 
front door, eagerly devouring the news. His 
jaw was slack and his eyes protruded. 

The solemn houses of Harley Street only 
increased my nausea. The folly of it — the 
selfish, savage folly of life! 

“Come, Richard,” said Alice. “The sooner 
we get to the house agent the better. We 
could never live here.” 

“I’ll put him on to the job of finding a 


IMMORTAL LOVE 


181 


bungalow on the South Coast at once,” I said. 
“And then we’ll go and live there.” 

“We must get married,” she observed. 

“Married!” I stopped and stared at her 
with a puzzled expression. “Don’t you think 
the marriage ceremony is rather barbarous?” 

She did not reply; we walked on immersed 
in our own thoughts. At times I detected in 
the passers-by a gleam of sparrow-egg blue. 

My house agent was a large, confused indi- 
vidual who habitually wore a shining top hat 
on the back of his head and twisted a cigar in 
the corner of his mouth. He was very fat, 
with one of those creased faces that seem to fall 
into folds like a heavy crimson curtain. His 
brooding, congested eye fell upon me as we en- 
tered, and an expression of alarm became visi- 
ble in its depths. He pushed his chair back 
and retreated to a corner of the room. 

“Dr. Harden !” he exclaimed fearfully, “you 
oughtn’t to come here like that, you really 
oughtn’t.” 

“Don’t be an ass, Franklyn,” I said firmly. 
“You are bound to catch the germ sooner or 
later. It will impress you immensely.” 

“It’s all over London,” he whimpered. 


182 THE BLUE GERM 

“It’s too much; it will hit us hard. It’s too 
much.” 

“Listen to me,” I said. “I have come here 
to see you about business. Now sit down in 
your chair ; I won’t touch you. I want you to 
get me a bungalow by the sea with a garden 
as soon as possible. I am going to sell my 
house.” 

“Sell your house!” He became calmer. 
“That is very extraordinary, Dr. Harden.” 

“I am going out of London.” 

He was astonished. 

“But your house — in Harley Street — so cen- 
tral . . .” he stammered. “I don’t under- 
stand. Are you giving up your practice?” 

“Of course.” 

“At your age, Dr. Harden?” 

“What has age got to do with it? There is 
no such thing as age.” 

He stared. Then his eyes turned to Alice. 

“No such thing as age?” he murmured 
helplessly. “But surely you are not going to 
sell ; you have the best house in Harley Street. 
Its commanding position ... in the centre of 
that famous locality . . .” 

“Do you think that any really sane man 


IMMORTAL LOVE 


183 


would live in the centre of Harley Street?” I 
asked calmly. “Is he likely to find any peace 
in that furnace of crude worldly ambitions? 
But all that is already a thing of the past. In 
a few weeks, Franklyn, Harley Street will be 
deserted.” 

“Deserted?” His eyes rolled. 

“Deserted,” I said sternly. “In its upper 
rooms there may remain a few Immortals, but 
the streets will be silent. The great business 
of sickness, which occupies the attention of a 
third of the world and furnishes the main 
topic of conversation in every home, will be 
gone. Sell my house, Franklyn, and find me 
a bungalow on the South Coast facing the 
sea.” 

I turned away and went towards the door. 
Alice followed me. The house agent sat in 
helpless amazement. He filled me with a 
sense of nausea. He seemed so gross, so 
mindless. 

“A bungalow,” he whispered. 

“Yes. Let us have long, low, simple rooms 
and a garden where we may grow enough to 
live on. The age of material complexity and 
noise is at an end. We need peace.” 


184 


THE BLUE GERM 


Strolling along at a slow pace, we went down 
Oxford Street towards the Marble Arch. It 
was dusk. The newsboys were howling at 
every corner and everyone had a paper. Lit- 
tle groups of people stood on the pavements 
discussing the news. In the roadway the 
stream of traffic was incessant. The huge 
motor-buses thundered and swayed along, with 
their loads of pale humanity feverishly clinging 
to them. The public-houses were crowded. 
The slight tension that the threat of the Blue 
Disease produced in people filled the bars with 
men and women, seeking the relaxation of al- 
cohol. There was in the air that liveliness, that 
tendency to collect into small crowds, that is 
evident whenever the common safety of the 
great herd is threatened. In the Park a crowd 
surrounded the platform of an agitator. In a 
voice like that of a delirious man, he implored 
the crowd to go down on its knees and repent 
. . . the end of the world was at hand . . . the 
Blue Disease was the pouring out of one of the 
vials of wrath . . . repent! . . . repent! . . . 
His voice rang in our ears and drove us away. 
We crossed the damp grass. I stumbled over 
a sleeping man. There was something famil- 


IMMORTAL LOVE 


185 


iar in his appearance and I stooped down and 
turned him over. It was Mr. Herbert Wain. 
He seemed to be fast asleep. . . . We walked 
to King’s Cross, and I put Alice without regret 
in the train for Cambridge. 


CHAPTER XIX 

THE MEETING AT THE QUEEN’S HALL 

T HE same night a vast meeting of medical 
men had been summoned at the Queen’s 
Hall, with the object of discussing the nature 
of the strange visitation, and the measures that 
should be adopted. Doctors came from every 
part of the country. The meeting began at 
eight o’clock, and Sir Jeremy Jones, the Presi- 
dent of the Royal College of Physicians, 
opened the discussion with a paper in which the 
most obvious features of the disease were 
briefly tabulated. 

The great Hall was packed. Sarakoff and 
I got seats in the front row of the gallery. Sir 
Jeremy Jones, a large bland man, with beauti- 
ful silver grey hair, wearing evening dress, and 
pince-nez, stood up on the platform amid a 
buzz of talk. The short outburst of clapping 
soon ceased and Sir Jeremy began. 

The beginnings of the disease were outlined, 
186 


MEETING AT QUEEN’S HALL 187 

the symptoms described, and then the physician 
laid down his notes, and seemed to look directly 
up at me. 

“So far,” he said, in suave and measured 
tones, “I have escaped the Blue Disease, but 
at any moment I may find myself a victim, and 
the fact does not disquiet me. F or I am con- 
vinced that we are witnessing the sudden in- 
trusion and the swift spread of an absolutely 
harmless organism — one that has been, per- 
haps, dormant for centuries in the soil, or has 
evolved to its present form in the deep waters 
of the Elan watershed by a process whose na- 
ture we can only dimly guess at. Some have 
suggested a meteoric origin, and it is true that 
some meteoric stones fell over Wales recently. 
But that is far-fetched to my mind, for how 
could a white-hot stone harbour living matter? 
Whatever its origin, it is, I am sure, a harmless 
thing, and though strange, and at first sight 
alarming, we need none of us alter our views of 
life or our way of living. The subject is now 
open for discussion, and I call on Professor 
Sarakoff, of Petrograd, the eminent bacteriolo- 
gist, to give us the benefit of his views, as I 
believe he has a statement to make.” 


188 


THE BLUE GERM 


A burst of applause filled the Hall. 

“Good,” muttered Sarakoff in my ear. “I 
will certainly give them my views.” 

“Be careful,” I said idly. Sir Jeremy was 
gazing round the Hall. Sarakoff stood up 
and there arose cries for silence. He made a 
striking figure with his giant stature, his black 
hair and beard and his blue-stained eyes. Sir 
Jeremy sat down, smiling blandly. 

“Mr. President and Gentlemen,” began the 
Professor, in a voice that carried to every part 
of the Hall. “I, as an Immortal, desire to 
make a few simple and decisive statements to 
you to-night regarding the nature of the Blue 
Disease, the germ of which was prepared by 
myself and my friend, Dr. Richard Harden. 
The germ — in future to be known as the Sara- 
koff-Harden bacillus — is ultra-microscopical. 
It grows in practically every medium with 
great ease. In the human body it finds an ad- 
mirable host, and owing to the fact that it de- 
stroys all other organisms, it confers immor- 
tality on the person who is infected by it. We 
are therefore on the threshold of a new era.” 

After this brief statement Sarakoff calmly 
sat down, and absolute silence reigned. Sir 


MEETING AT QUEEN’S HALL 189 

J eremy, still smiling blandly, stared up at him. 
Every face was turned in our direction. A 
murmur began, which quickly increased. A 
doctor behind me leaned over and touched my 
shoulder. 

"Is he sane?” he asked in a whisper. 

“Perfectly,” I replied. 

“But you don’t believe him?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“But it’s ridiculous! Who is this Dr. Har- 
den?” 

“I am Dr. Harden.” 

The uproar in the Hall was now consider- 
able. Sir J eremy rose, and waved his hands in 
gestures of restraint. Finally he had recourse 
to a bell that stood on the table. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, when silence was re- 
stored. “We have just heard a remarkable 
statement from Professor Sarakoff and I think 
I am justified in asking for proofs.” 

I instantly got up. I was quite calm. 

“I can prove that Sarakoff’s statement is 
perfectly correct,” I said. “I am Richard 
Harden. I discovered the method whereby the 
bacillus became a possibility. Every man in 
this Hall who has the Sarakoff-Harden bacil- 


190 


THE BLUE GERM 


lus in his system is immortal. You, Mr. Presi- 
dent, are not yet one of the Immortals. But 
I fancy in a day or two you will join us/’ I 
paused and smiled easily at the concourse be- 
low and around me. “It is really bad luck on 
the medical profession,” I continued. “I’m 
afraid we’ll all have to find some other occupa- 
tion. Of course you’ve all noticed how the 
germ cuts short disease.” 

I sat down again. The smile on Sir 
Jeremy’s face had weakened a little. 

“Turn them out!” shouted an angry voice 
from the body of the Hall. 

Sir Jeremy held up a protesting hand, and 
then took off his glasses and began to polish 
them. A buzz of talk arose. Men turned to 
one another and began to argue. The doctor 
behind me leaned forward again. 

“Is this a joke?” he enquired rather loudly. 
“No.” 

“But you two are speaking rubbish. What 
the devil do you mean by saying you’re im- 
mortal?” 

I turned and looked at him. My calmness 
enraged him. He was a shaggy, irritable, 
middle-aged practitioner. 


MEETING AT QUEEN’S HALL 191 

“You’ve got the Blue Disease, but you’re 
no more immortal than a blue monkey.” He 
looked fiercely round at his neighbours. 
“What do you think?” 

A babel of voices sounded in our ears. 

Sir J eremy J ones appeared perplexed. 
Someone stood up in the body of the Hall and 
Sir Jeremy caught his eye and seemed re- 
lieved. It was my friend Hammer, who had 
tended me after the accident that my black cat 
had brought about. 

“Gentlemen,” said Hammer, when silence 
had fallen. “Although the statements of Pro- 
fessor Sarakoff and Dr. Harden appear fan- 
tastical, I believe that they may be nearer the 
truth than we suppose.” His manner, slow, 
impressive and calm, aroused general attention. 
Frowning slightly, he drew himself up and 
clasped the lapels of his coat. “This after- 
noon,” he continued, “I was at the bedside of a 
sick child who was at the point of death. This 
child had been visited yesterday by a relative 
who, two hours after the visit, developed the 

Blue Disease. Now ” He paused and 

looked slowly about him. “Now the child was 
suffering from peritonitis, and there was no 


192 


THE BLUE GERM 


possible chance of recovery. Yet that child 
did recover and is now well.” 

The whole audience was staring at him,. 
Hammer took a deep breath and grasped his 
coat more firmly. 

“That child, I repeat, is now well. The re- 
covery set in under my own eyes. I saw for 
myself the return of life to a body that was 
moribund. The return was swift. In one 
hour the transformation was complete, and it 
was in that hour that the child developed the 
outward signs of the Blue Disease.” 

He paused. A murmur ran round the hall 
and then once more came silence. 

“I am of the opinion,” said Hammer deliber- 
ately, “that the cause of the miracle — for it was 
a miracle — was the Blue Disease. Think, 
Gentlemen, of a child in the last stages of sep- 
tic peritonitis, practically dead. Think again 
of the same child, one hour later, alive, free 
from pain, smiling, interested — and stained 
with the Blue Disease. What conclusion, as 
honest men, are we to draw from that?” 

He sat down. At once a man near him got 
to his feet. 

“The point of view hinted at by the last 


MEETING AT QUEEN’S HALL 193 


speaker is correct,” he said. “I can corrobo- 
rate it to a small extent. This morning I was 
confined to my bed with the beginnings of a 
bad influenzal cold. At midday I developed 
the Blue Disease, and now I am as well as I 
have ever been in the whole of my life. I at- 
tribute my cure to the Blue Disease.” 

Scarcely had he taken his seat again when a 
grave scholarly man arose in the gallery. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I come from Bir- 
mingham; and it is a city of miracles. The 
sick are being cured in thousands daily. The 
hospitals are emptying daily. I verily believe 
that the Blue Disease may prove to be all 
that Dr. Sarakoff and Dr. Harden claim it 
to be.” 

The effect of these speakers upon the meet- 
ing was remarkable. A thrill passed over the 
crowded Hall. Hammer rose again. 

“Let us accept for a moment that this new 
infection confers immortality on humanity,” he 
said, weighing each word carefully. “What 
are we, as medical men, going to do? Look 
into the future — a future free from disease, 
from death, possibly from pain. Are we to ac- 
cept such a future passively, or are we, as doc- 


194 


THE BLUE GERM 


tors, to strive to eradicate this new germ as we 
strive to eradicate other germs?” 

Sir Jeremy Jones, with an expression of dis- 
may, raised his hand. 

“Surely, surely,” he exclaimed shrilly, “we 
are going too far. That the Blue Disease may 
modify the course of illness is conceivable, and 
seems to be supported by evidence. But to 
assume that it confers immortality ” 

“Why should we doubt it?” returned 
Hammer warmly. “We have been told that 
it does by two responsible men of science, and 
so far their claim is justified. You, Mr. Chair- 
man, have not seen the miracle that I have 
seen this afternoon. If the germ can bring a 
moribund child back to life in an hour, why 
should it not banish disease from the world?” 

“But if it does banish disease from the 
world, that does not mean it confers immor- 
tality,” objected Sir Jeremy. “Do you mean 
to say that we are to regard natural death as a 
disease?” 

He gazed round the hall helplessly. Several 
men arose to speak, but were unable to obtain 
a hearing, for excitement now ran high and 
every man was discussing the situation with his 


MEETING AT QUEEN’S HALL 195 

neighbour. For a moment, a strange dread 
had gripped the meeting, paralysing thought, 
but it passed, and while some remained per- 
plexed the majority began to resent vehe- 
mently the suggestions of Hammer. I could 
hear those immediately behind me insisting 
that the view was sheer rubbish. It was pre- 
posterous. It was pure lunacy. With these 
phrases, constantly repeated, they threw off 
the startling effect of Hammer’s speech, and 
fortified themselves in the conviction that the 
Blue Disease was merely a new malady, similar 
to other maladies, and that life would proceed 
as before. 

I turned to them. 

“You are deliberately deceiving yourselves,” 
I said. “You have heard the evidence. You 
are simply making as much noise as possible in 
order to shut out the truth.” 

My words enraged them. A sudden clam- 
our arose around us. Several men shook their 
fists and there were angry cries. One of them 
made a movement towards us. In an instant 
calmness left us. The scene around us seemed 
to leap up to our senses as something terrible 
and dangerous. Sarakoff and I scrambled to 


196 


THE BLUE GERM 


our feet, pushed our way frantically through 
the throng, reached the corridor and dashed 
down it. Fear of indescribable intensity had 
darned in our souls, and in a moment we found 
ourselves running violently down Regent 
Street. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE WAY BACK 

I T had been a wet night. Pools of water 
lay on the glistening pavements, but the 
rain had ceased. We ran steadily until we 
came in sight of Piccadilly Circus, and there 
our fear left us suddenly. It was like the cut- 
ting off of a switch. We stopped in the street, 
gasping for breath. 

“This is really absurd,” I observed; “we 
must learn to control ourselves.” 

“We can’t control an emotion of that 
strength, Harden. It’s overwhelming. It’s 
all the emotion we had before concentrated into 
a single expression. No, it’s going to be a 
nuisance.” 

“The worst of it is that we cannot foresee it. 
We get no warning. It springs out of the 
unknown like a tiger.” 

We walked slowly across the Circus. It was 
thronged with a night crowd, and seemed like 
197 


198 


THE BLUE GERM 


some strange octagonal room, walled by mov- 
ing coloured lights. Here lay a scene that 
remained eternally the same whatever the con- 
ditions of life — a scene that neither war, nor 
pestilence, nor famine could change. We 
stood by the fountain, immersed in our 
thoughts. “I used to enjoy this kind of 
thing,” said Sarakoff at length. 

“And now?” 

“Now it is curiously meaningless — abso- 
lutely indecipherable.” 

We walked on and entered Coventry Street. 
Here Sarakoff suddenly pushed open a door 
and I followed him. We found ourselves in a 
brilliantly illuminated restaurant. A band 
was playing. We sat down at an unoccupied 
table. 

“Harden, I wish to try an experiment. I 
want to see if, by an effort, we can get back to 
the old point of view.” 

He beckoned to the waiter and ordered 
champagne, cognac, oysters and caviare. 
Then he leaned back in his seat and smiled. 

“Somehow I feel it won’t work,” I began. 

He held up his hand. 

“Wait. It is an experiment. You must 


THE WAY BACK 


199 


give it a fair chance. Come, let us be merry.” 

I nodded. 

“Let us eat, drink and be merry,” I mur- 
mured. 

I watched the flushed faces and sparkling 
eyes around us. So far we had attracted no 
attention. Our table was in a corner, behind 
a pillar. The waiter hurried up with a laden 
tray, and in a moment the table was covered 
with bottles and plates. 

“Now,” said Sarakoff, “we will begin with a 
glass of brandy. Let us try to recall the days 
of our youth — a little imagination, Harden, 
and then perhaps the spell will be broken. A 
toast — Leonora !” 

“Leonora,” I echoed. 

W e raised our glasses. I took a sip and set 
down my glass. Our eyes met. 

“Is the brandy good?” 

“It is of an admirable quality,” said Sara- 
koff. He put his glass on the table and for 
some time we sat in silence. 

“Excuse me,” I said. “Don’t you think the 
caviare is a trifle ?” 

He made a gesture of determination. 

“Harden, we will try champagne.” 


200 


THE BLUE GERM 


He filled two glasses. 

“Let us drink off the whole glass,” he said. 
“Really, Harden, we must try.” 

I managed to take two gulps. The stuff 
was nasty. It seemed like weak methylated 
spirits. 

“Continue,” said Sarakoff firmly; “let us 
drink ourselves into the glorious past, whither 
the wizard of alcohol transports all men.” 

I took two more gulps. Sarakoff did the 
same. It was something in the nature of a 
battle against an invisible resistance. I 
gripped the table hard with my free hand, and 
took another gulp. 

“Sarakoff,” I gasped. “I can’t take any 
more. If you want to get alcohol into my 
system you must inject it under my skin. I 
can’t do it this way.” 

He put down his glass. It was half full. 
There were beads of perspiration on his brow. 

“I’ll finish that glass somehow,” he observed. 
He passed his hand across his forehead. 
“This is extraordinary. It’s just like taking 
poison, Harden, and yet it is an excellent 
brand of wine.” 

“Do get these oysters taken away,” I said. 


THE WAY BACK 


201 


“They serve no purpose lying here. They 
only take up room.” 

“Wait till I finish my glass.” 

With infinite trouble he drank the rest of 
the champagne. The effort tired him. He 
sat, breathing quickly and staring before him. 

“That’s a pretty woman,” he observed. “I 
did not notice her before.” 

I followed the direction of his gaze. A 
young woman, dressed in emerald green, sat 
at a table against the opposite wall. She was 
talking very excitedly, making many gestures 
and seemed to me a little intoxicated. 

Sarakoff poured out some more champagne. 

“I am getting back,” he muttered. He 
looked like a man engaged in some terrific 
struggle with himself. His breath was short 
and thick, his eyes were reddened. Perspira- 
tion covered his face and hands. He finished 
the second glass. 

“Yes, she is pretty,” he said; “I like that 
white skin against the brilliant green. She’s 
got grace, too. Have you noticed white- 
skinned women always are graceful, and have 
little ears, Harden?” 


THE BLUE GERM 


20 2 

He laughed suddenly, with his old boister- 
ousness and clapped me on the shoulder. 

“This is the way out!” he shouted, and 
pointed to the silver tub that contained the 
champagne bottle. 

His voice sounded loudly above the music. 

“The way out!” he repeated. He got to 
his feet. His eyes were congested. The 
sweat streamed down his cheeks. “Here,” he 
called in his deep powerful voice, “here, all you 
who are afraid — here is the way out.” He 
waved his arms. People stopped drinking and 
talking to turn and stare at him. “Back to 
the animals!” he shouted. “Back to the fur 
and hair and flesh ! I was up on the mountain 
top, but I’ve found the way back. Here it is 
— here is the magic you need, if you’re tired 
of the frozen heights!” 

He swayed as he spoke. Strangely inter- 
ested, I stared up at him. 

“He’s delirious,” called out the emerald 
young woman. “He’s got that horrid dis- 
ease.” 

The manager and a couple of waiters came 
up. “It’s coming,” shouted Sarakoff; “I saw 
it sweeping over the world. See, the world is 


THE WAY BACK 


203 


white, like snow. They have robbed it of 
colour.” The manager grasped his arm 
firmly. 

“Come with me,” he said. “You are ill. I 
will put you in a taxi.” 

“You don’t understand,” said Sarakoff. 
“You are in it still. Don’t you see I’m a 
traveller?” 

“He is mad,” whispered a waiter in my ear. 

“A traveller,” shouted the Russian. “But 
I’ve come back. Greeting, brothers. It was 
a rough journey, but now I hear and see you.” 

“If you do not leave the establishment at 
once I will get a policeman,” said the manager 
with a hiss. 

Sarakoff threw out his hands. 

“Make ready!” he cried. “The great up- 
rooting!” He began to laugh unsteadily. 
“The end of disease and the end of desire — 
there’s no difference. You never knew that, 
brothers. I’ve come back to tell you — thou- 
sands and thousands of miles — into the great 
dimension of hell and heaven. It was a mis- 
take and I’m going back. Look! She’s fad- 
ing — further and further ” He pointed a 

shaking hand across the room and suddenly 


204 


THE BLUE GERM 


collapsed, half supported by the manager. 

“Dead drunk,” remarked a neighbour. 

I turned. 

“No. Live drunk,” I said. “The cham- 
pagne has brought him back to the world of 
desire.” 

The speaker, a clean-shaven young man, 
stared insolently. 

“You have no business to come into a pub- 
lic place with that disease,” he said with a 
sneer, 

“You are right. I have no business here. 
My business is to warn the world that the end 
of desire is at hand.” I signalled to a waiter 
and together we managed to get Sarakoff into 
a taxi-cab. 

As we drove home, all that lay behind Sara- 
koff’s broken confused words revealed itself 
with increasing distinctness to me. 

Sarakoff spoke again. 

“Harden,” he muttered thickly, “there was 
a flaw — in the dream ” 

“Yes,” I said. “I was sure there would be 
a flaw. I hadn’t noticed it before ” 

“We’re cut off,” he whispered. “Cut off.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


JASON 

N EXT morning the headlines of the news- 
papers blazed out the news of the meet- 
ing at the Queen’s Hall, and the world read 
the words of Sarakoff. 

Strange to say, most of the papers seemed 
inclined to view the situation seriously. 

“If,” said one in a leading article, “it really 
means that immortality is coming to humanity 
— and there is, at least, much evidence from 
Birmingham that supports the view that the 
germ cures all sickness — then we are indeed 
face to face with a strange problem. For how 
will immortality affect us as a community? 
As a community, we live together on the tacit 
assumption that the old will die and the young 
will take their place. All our laws and cus- 
toms are based on this idea. We can scarcely 
think of any institution that is not established 
upon the certainty of death. What, then, if 
death ceases? Our food supply ” 


206 


THE BLUE GERM 


I was interrupted, while reading, by my 
servant who announced that a gentleman 
wished to see me on urgent business. I laid 
aside the paper and waited for him to enter. 

My early visitor was a tall, heavily-built 
man, with strong eyes. He was carefully 
dressed. He looked at me attentively, nodded, 
and sat down. 

“My name is Jason — Edward Jason. You 
have no doubt heard of me.” 

“Certainly,” I said. “You are the proprie- 
tor of this paper that I have just been read- 
ing.” 

He nodded. 

“And of sixty other daily papers, Dr. Har- 
den,” he said in a soft voice. “I control much 
of the opinion in the country, and I intend to 
control it all before I die.” 

“A curious intention. But why should you 
die? You will get the germ in time. I cal- 
culate that in a month at the outside the whole 
of London and the best part of the country 
will be infected.” 

While I spoke he stared hard at me. He 
nodded again, glanced at his boots, pinched his 
lips, and then stared again. 


JASON 


207 

“A year ago I made a tour of all the big 
men in your profession, both here, in America, 
and on the continent, Dr. Harden. I had a 
very definite reason for doing this. The rea- 
son was that — well, it does not matter now. I 
wanted a diagnosis and a forecast of the future. 
I consulted forty medical men — all with big 
names. Twenty-one gave me practically 
identical opinions. The remaining nineteen 
were in disagreement. Of that nineteen six 
gave me a long life.” 

“What did the twenty-one give you?” 

“Five years at the outside.” 

I looked at him critically. 

“Yes, I should have given the same — a year 
ago.” 

He coloured a little, and his gaze fell; he 
shifted himself in his chair. Then he looked 
up suddenly, with a strong glow in his eyes. 

“And now?” 

“Now I give you — immortality.” I spoke 
quite calmly, with no intention of any dramatic 
effect. 

The colour faded from his cheeks, and the 
glow in his eyes increased. 


208 


THE BLUE GERM 


“If I get the Blue Disease, do you swear 
that it will cure me?” 

“Of course it will cure you.” 

He got to his feet. He seemed to be in the 
grip of some powerful emotion, and I could see 
that he was determined to control himself. He 
walked down the room and stood for some time 
near the window. 

“A gipsy once told me I would die when 
I was fifty-two. Will you believe me when 
I say that that prophecy has weighed upon 
me more than any medical opinion?” He 
turned and came up the room and stood before 
me. “Did you ever read German psychology 
and philosophy?” 

“To a certain extent — in translations.” 

“Well, Dr. Harden, I stepped out of the 
pages of some of those books, I think. You’ve 
heard of the theory of the Will to Power? 
The men who based human life on that in- 
stinct were right!” He clenched his hands 
and closed his eyes. “This last year has been 
hell to me. I’ve been haunted every hour 
by the thought of death — just so much longer 
— so many thousand days — and then Noth- 
ing!” He opened his eyes and sat down be- 


JASON 


209 


fore me. “Are you ambitious, Dr. Harden?” 

“I was — very ambitious.” 

“Do you know what it is to have a dream of 
power, luring you on day and night? Do you 
know what it is to see the dream becoming real- 
ity, bit by bit — and then to be given a time limit, 
when the dream is only half worked out?” 

“I have had my dream,” I said. “It is now 
realized.” 

“The germ?” 

I nodded. He leaned forward. 

“Then you are satisfied?” 

“I have no desires now.” 

He did not appear to understand. 

“I don’t believe yet in your theory of immor- 
tality,” he said slowly. “But I do believe that 
the germ cures sickness. I have had private 
reports from Birmingham, and to-morrow I’m 
going to publish them as evidence. You see, 
Harden, I’ve decided to back you. To-mor- 
row I’m going to make Gods of you and your 
Russian associate. I’m going to call you the 
greatest benefactors the race has known. I’m 
going to lift you up to the skies.” 

He looked at me earnestly. 

“Doesn’t that stir you?” he asked. 


210 


THE BLUE GERM 


“No, I told you that I have no desires.” 

He laughed. 

“You’re dazed. You must have worked 
incredibly hard. Wait till you see your name 
surrounded by the phrases I will devise you. 
I can make men out of nothing.” His eyes 
shone into mine. “I once heard a man say 
that the trail of the serpent lay across my pa- 
pers. That man is in an asylum now. I can 
break men, too, you see. Now I want to ask 
you something.” 

I watched him with ease, totally uninflu- 
enced by his magnetism — calm and aloof as a 
man watching a mechanical doll. 

“Can you limit the germ?” he asked softly. 

I shook my head. 

“Can you take any steps to stop it or keep 
it — within control?” 

I shook my head again. He stared for a 
minute at me. 

“I believe you,” he said at last. “It’s a pity. 
Think what we could have done — just a few of 
us!” He sat for some time drumming his 
fingers on his knees and frowning slightly. 
Then he stood up. 

“Never mind,” he exclaimed. “I’m con- 


JASON 


211 * 


A'inced it will cure me. That is the main thing. 
I’ll have plenty of time to realize my dream 
now, Harden, thanks to you. Y ou don’t know 
what that means — ah, you don’t know!” 

“By the way,” I said, “I see you are sug- 
gesting that food may become a problem in 
the future. I think we’ll be all right.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, you see, if there’s no desire, there’s 
no appetite.” 

“I don’t understand,” he said. “It seems 
clear that if disease is mastered by the germ, 
then the death-rate will drop, and there will be 
more mouths to fill. If everyone lives for their 
threescore and ten, the food question will be 
serious.” 

“Oh, they’ll live longer than that. They’ll 
live for ever, Mr. Jason.” 

He laughed tolerantly. 

“In any case there will be a food problem,” 
he said in a quiet friendly voice. “There will 
be more births, and more children — for none 
will die — and more old people.” 

“There won’t be more births,” I said. 

He swung round on his heel. 

“Why not?” he asked sharply. 


212 


THE BLUE GERM 


“Because there will be no desire, Mr. Jason. 
You can’t have births without desires, don’t 
you see?” 

At that moment Sarakoff entered the room. 
I introduced him to the great newspaper 
proprietor. Jason made some complimentary 
remarks, which Sarakoff received with cool 
gravity. 

I could see that Jason was very puzzled. 
He had seated himself again, and was watching 
the Russian closely. 

“The effects of last night have vanished,” 
said Sarakoff to me. “My head is clear again 
and I have no intention of ever repeating the 
experiment.” 

“You got back, to some extent.” 

“Yes, partly. It was tremendously pain- 
ful. I felt like a man in a nightmare.” 

I turned to Jason and explained what had 
happened at the restaurant. He listened in- 
tently. 

“You see,” I concluded, “the germ kills 
desire. Sarakoff and I live on a level of con- 
sciousness that is undisturbed by any craving. 
We live in a wonderful state of peace, which 
is only broken by the appearance of physical 


JASON 


213 


danger — against which, of course, the germ is 
not proof.” 

Jason was silent. 

“Do you mean to tell me,” he said at length, 
in a very deliberate voice, “that the effect of 
the germ is to destroy ambition?” 

“Worldly ambition, certainly,” I replied. 
“But I believe that, in time, ambitions of a 
subtler nature will reveal themselves in us, as 
Immortals.” 

Jason smiled very broadly. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “you are wonder- 
ful men. You have discovered something that 
benefits humanity enormously. But take my 
advice — leave your other theories alone. Stick 
to the facts — that your germ cures sickness. 
Drop the talk about immortality and desire. 
It’s too fantastic, even for me. In the mean- 
time I shall spread abroad the news that the 
end of sickness is at hand, and that humanity 
is on the threshold of a new era. For that I 
believe with all my heart.” 

“One moment,” said Sarakoff. “If you be- 
lieve that this germ does away with disease, 
what is going to cause men to die?” 

“Old age.” 


214 THE BLUE GERM 

“But that is a disease itself.” 

“Wear and tear isn’t a disease. That’s what 
kills most of us.” 

“Yes, but wear and tear comes from desire, 
Mr. Jason,” I said. “And the germ knocks 
that out. So what is left, save immortality?” 

When J ason left us, I could see that he was 
impressed by the possibility of life being, at 
least, greatly prolonged. And this was the 
line he took in his newspapers next day. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE FIRST MURDERS 

T HE effect of Jason’s newspapers on pub- 
lic opinion was remarkable. Humanity 
ever contains within it the need for mystery, 
and the strange and incredible, if voiced by 
authority, stir it to its depths. The facts about 
the healing of sickness and the cure of disease 
in Birmingham were printed in heavy type 
and read by millions. Nothing was said about 
immortality save what Sarakoff and I had 
stated at the Queen’s Hall meeting. But in- 
stinctively the multitude leaped to the con- 
clusion that if the end of disease was at hand, 
then the end of death — at least, the postpone- 
ment of death — was to be expected. 

Jason, pale and masterful, visited us in the 
afternoon, and told us of the spread of the 
tidings in England. “They’ve swallowed it,” 
he exclaimed; “it’s stirred them as nothing else 
has done in the last hundred years. I visited 
the East End to-day. The streets are full of 

215 


216 


the blue germ 


people. Crowds everywhere. It might lead 
to anything.” 

“Is the infection spreading swiftly?” 

“It’s spreading. But there are plenty of 
people, like myself, who haven’t got it yet. I 
should say that a quarter of London is blue.” 
He looked at me with a sudden anxiety. 
“You’re sure I’ll get it?” 

“Quite sure. Everyone is bound to get it. 
There’s no possible immunity.” 

He sat heavily in the chair, staring at the 
carpet. 

“Harden, I didn’t quite like the look of those 
crowds in the East End. Anything big like 
this stirs up the people. It excites them and 
then the incalculable may happen. I’ve been 
thinking about the effect upon the uneducated 
mind. I’ve spread over the country the vision 
of humanity free from disease, and that’s 
roused something in them — something danger- 
ous — that I didn’t foresee. t)isease, Harden, 
whatever you doctors think of it, puts the fear 
of God into humanity. It’s these sudden re- 
leases — releases from ancient fears — that are 
so dangerous. Are you sure you can’t stop 
the germ, or direct it along certain channels?” 


THE FIRST MURDERS 


217 


“I have already told you that’s impossible.” 

“You might as well try and stop the light of 
day,” said Sarakoff from a sofa, where he was 
lying apparently asleep. “Let the people 
think what they like now. Wait till they get 
it themselves. There are rules in the game, 
Jason, that you have no conception of, and that 
I have only realized since I became immortal. 
Yes — rules in the game, whether you play it in 
the cellar or the attic, or in the valley, or on the 
mountain top.” 

“Your friend is very Russian,” said Jason 
equably. “I have always heard they are 
dreamers and visionaries. Personally, I am a 
practical man, and as such I foresee trouble. 
If the masses of the people have no illness, and 
enjoy perfect health, we shall be faced by a 
difficult problem. They’ll get out of hand. 
Depressed states of health are valuable assets 
in keeping the social organization together. 
All this demands careful thought. I am visit- 
ing the Prime Minister this evening and shall 
give him my views.” 

At that moment a newspaper boy passed the 
window with an afternoon edition and Jason 
went out to get a copy. He returned with a 


218 THE BLUE GERM 

smile of satisfaction, carrying the paper open 
before him. 

“Three murders in London/’ he announced. 
“One in Plaistow, one in East Ham and one in 
Pimlico. I told you there was unrest abroad.” 
He laid the paper on the table and studied it. 
“In every case it was an aged person — two old 
women, and one old man. Now what does 
that mean?” 

“A gang at work.” 

He shook his head. 

“No. In one case the murderer has been 
caught. It was a case of patricide — a hideous 
crime. Curiously enough the victim had the 
Blue Disease. The end must have been 
ghastly, as it states here that the expression on 
the old man’s face was terrible.” 

He sat beside the table, drumming his fingers 
on it and staring at the wall before him. I 
was not particularly interested in the news, 
but I was interested in Jason. Character had 
formerly appealed little to me, but now I found 
an absorbing problem in it. 

“Harden, do you think that son killed his 
father because he had the Blue Disease?” 

I was struck by the remark. For some rea- 


THE FIRST MURDERS 


219 


son the picture of Alice’s father came into my 
mind. Jason sprang to his feet. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he exclaimed. “That’s 
what lay behind those restless crowds. I knew 
there was something — a riddle to read, and now 
I’ve got the answer. The crowd doesn’t know 
what’s rousing them. But I do. It’s fear and 
resentment. Harden. It’s fear and resent- 
ment against the old.” He brought his fist 
down on the table. “The germ’s going to lead 
to war! It’s going to lead to the worst war 
humanity has ever experienced — the war of the 
young against the old. Not the ancient strife 
or struggle between young and old, but open 
bloodshed, my friends. That’s what your 
germ is going to do.” 

I smiled and shook my head. 

“Wait,” said Sarakoff from the sofa; “wait 
a little. Why are you in such a hurry to jump 
to conclusions?” 

“Because it’s my business to jump to conclu- 
sions just six hours before anyone else does,” 
said Jason. “I calculate that my mind, for 
the last twenty years, has been six hours ahead 
of time. I live in a state of chronic anticipa- 


THE BLUE GERM 


220 

tion, Dr. Sarakoff. Just let me use your 
telephone for a moment.” 

He returned a quarter of an hour later. 
His expression was calm, but his eyes were 
hard. “I was right,” he said. “Those two 
old women had the Blue Disease, and a girl, 
a daughter, is suspect in one case. Can’t you 
imagine the situation? Girl lives with her 
aged mother — can’t get free — mother has what 
money there is — not allowed to marry — girl 
unconsciously counts on mother’s death — prob- 
ably got a secret love-affair — is expecting the 
moment of release — and then, along comes the 
Blue Disease and one of my newspapers telling 
her what it means. The old lady recovers her 
health — the future shuts down like a rat trap 
and what does the poor girl do? Kills her 
mother — and probably goes mad. That, 
gentlemen, is my theory of the case.” 

He strode up and down the room. 

“You may think I’m taking a low view,” he 
cried. “But there are hundreds of thousands 
of similar cases in England. God help the old 
if the young forget their religion!” 

F or some reason I was unmoved by the out- 
cry. It was no doubt owing to the peculiar 


THE FIRST MURDERS 


221 


emotionless state that the germ induced in 
people. Jason was roused. He paced to and 
fro in silence, with his brows contracted. At 
length he stopped before me. 

‘‘Do you see any way out?” 

“There will be no war between the young 
and the old,” I replied. “In another week 
everyone will get the germ and that will be 
the end of war in every form.” 

He drew a chair and sat down before me. 

“You don’t understand,” he said earnestly. 
“Perhaps you had a happy childhood. I 
didn’t. I know how some sons and daughters 
feel because I suffered in that way. People 
are strangely blind to suffering unless they 
have suffered themselves. When I was a 
young man, my father put me in his office and 
gave me a clerk’s wages. He kept me there 
for six years at eighteen shillings a week. 
Whenever I made a suggestion concerning the 
business he was careful to ridicule it. When- 
ever I tried to break away and start on my own, 
he prevented it. There were a thousand other 
things — ways in which he fettered me. My 
only sister he kept at home to do the house- 
work. He forbade her to marry. She and I 


222 


THE BLUE GERM 


never had enough money to do anything, to go 
anywhere, or to buy anything. Now, to be 
quite frank, I longed for him to die so that I 
could get free. To me he was an ogre, a great 
merciless tyrant, a giant with a club. Well, 
he died. When he was dead I felt what a man 
dying of thirst in the desert must feel when he 
suddenly comes to a spring of water. I re- 
covered, and became what I am. My sister 
never recovered. She had been suppressed be- 
yond all the limits of elasticity. As far as her 
body is concerned, it is alive. Her soul is 
dead.” 

He paused and looked at me meditatively. 

“If your blue germ had come along then, 

Harden, I might Who knows? I have 

often wondered why our pulpit religion ignores 
the crimes of parents to their children. I’m 
not conventionally religious, but I seem to re- 
member that Christ indirectly said something 
pretty strong on the subject. But the pulpit 
folk show a wonderful facility for ignoring the 
awkward things Christ said. In about three 
years’ time I’m going to turn my guns on the 
Church. They’ve sneered at me too much.” 


THE FIRST MURDERS 223 

“ There will be a new Church by that time,” 
murmured Sarakoff. “And no guns.” 

J ason eyed the prostrate figure of the Rus- 
sian. 

“I refer to my newspapers. That’s going 
to be my final triumph. Why do you smile?” 

“Because you said a moment ago that it was 
your business to be six hours ahead of every- 
one else. You’re countless centuries behind 
Harden and me. We have taken a leap into 
the future. If you want to know what human- 
ity will be, look at us closely. You’ll get some 
hints that should be valuable. I admit that 
our bodies are old-fashioned in their size and 
shape, but not our emotions.” 

The telephone bell rang in the hall and J ason 
jumped up. 

“I think that’s for me.” 

He went out. I remained sitting calmly in 
my chair. An absolute serenity surrounded 
me. All that Jason did or said was like look- 
ing at an interesting play. I was perfectly 
content to sit and think — think of Jason, of 
what his motives were, of the reason why a man 
is blind where his desires are at work, of the 
new life, of the new organizations that would 


THE BLUE GERM 


224 ! 

be necessary. I was like a glutton before a 
table piled high with delicacies and with plenty 
of time to spare. Sarakoff seemed to be in the 
same condition for he lay with his eyes half 
shut, motionless and absorbed. 

Jason entered the room suddenly. He car- 
ried his hat and stick. 

“Two more murders reported from Green- 
wich, and ten from Birmingham. It’s becom- 
ing serious, Harden! I’m off to Downing 
Street. Watch the morning editions!” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


AT DOWNING STREET 

T HAT night, at eight o’clock, I was sum- 
moned to Downing Street. I left Sara- 
koff lying on the sofa, apparently asleep. I 
drove the first part of the way in a taxi, but at 
the corner of Orchard Street the cab very 
nearly collided with another vehicle, and in a 
moment I was a helpless creature of fear. So 
I walked the rest of the way, much to the 
astonishment of the driver, who thought I was 
a lunatic. It was a fine crisp evening and the 
streets were unusually full. Late editions of 
the paper were still being cried, and under the 
lamps were groups of people, talking excitedly. 

From what I could gather from snatches of 
conversation that I overheard, it seemed that 
many thought the millennium was at hand. I 
mused on this, wondering if beneath the busy 
exterior of life there lurked in people’s hearts a 
secret imperishable conviction. And, after all, 
225 


226 


THE BLUE GERM 


was it not a millennium — the final triumph of 
science — the conquest of the irrational by the 
rational? 

There was a good deal of drunkenness, and 
crowds of men and women, linked arm and 
arm, went by, singing senseless songs. In 
Piccadilly Circus the scene was unusually ani- 
mated. Here, beyond doubt, the Jason press 
had produced a powerful impression. The 
restaurants and bars blazed with light. 
Crowds streamed in and out and a spirit of 
hilarious excitement pervaded everyone. Ir- 
responsibility — that was the universal attitude ; 
and I became deeply occupied in thinking how 
the germ should have brought about such a 
temper in the multitude. Only occasionally 
did I catch the blue stain in the eyes of the 
throng about me. 

I reached Downing Street and was shown 
straight into a large, rather bare room. By 
the fireplace sat Jason, and beside him, on the 
hearthrug, stood the Premier. Jason intro- 
duced me and I was greeted with quiet court- 
esy. 

“I intend to make a statement in the House 
to-night and would like to put a few questions 


AT DOWNING STREET 227 

to you,” said the Premier in a slow, clear voice. 
“The Home Secretary has been considering 
whether you and Dr. Sarakoff should be ar- 
rested. I see no use in that. What you have 
done cannot be undone.” 

“That is true.” 

“In matters like this,” he continued, “it is 
always a question of taking sides. Either we 
must oppose you and the germ, or we must 
side with you, and extol the virtues of the new 
discovery. A neutral attitude would only 
rouse irritation. I have therefore looked into 
the evidence connected with the effects claimed 
for the germ, and have received reports on the 
rate of its spread. It would seem that it is 
of benefit to man, so far as can be judged at 
present, and that its course cannot be stayed.” 

I assented, and remained gazing abstractedly 
at the fire. 

He continued in a sterner tone — 

“It may, however, be necessary to place you 
and Dr. Sarakoff under police protection. 
There is no saying what may happen. Your 
action in letting loose the germ in the water 
supply of Birmingham was unfortunate. You 


228 


THE BLUE GERM 


have taken a great liberty with humanity, 
whatever may result from it.” 

“Medical men have no sense of proportion,” 
murmured Jason. “Science makes them so 
helpless.” 

“I see no kind of helplessness in rescuing 
humanity from disease,” I answered calmly. 
“Please tell me what you want to know.” 

They both looked at me attentively. The 
Premier took out a pair of pince-nez and began 
to clean the lenses, still watching me. 

“France is unwilling to let the germ into 
her territory. Can measures be taken to stop 
its access to the Continent?” 

“No. It will get there inevitably. It has 
probably got there long ago. It is air borne 
and water borne and probably sea borne as 
well. The whole world will be infected sooner 
or later. There is no immunity possible.” 

The Premier put on his pince-nez and 
warmed his hands at the fire. 

“Then what will the result of the germ be 
upon mankind?” he asked at length. 

“It will begin a new era. What has made 
reform so difficult up to now?” 

“People do not see eye to eye on all ques- 


AT DOWNING STREET 


229 


tions, Dr. Harden. That is the main reason.” 

“And why do they not see eye to eye?” 

“Because their desires are not the same.” 

“Very good. Now imagine a humanity 
without desires, as you and Jason understand 
desire. What would be the result?” 

“It is impossible to conceive. The wheels 
of the world would cease turning. We should 
be like sheep without a shepherd.” He sur- 
veyed me quietly for some time. “Then you 
think the germ will kill desire?” 

“I know it. I am a living example. I have 
no desires. I am like a man without a body, I 
am immortal.” 

Jason laughed. 

“You are above temptation?” he asked. 

“Absolutely. Neither money, power nor 
woman has any influence on me. They are 
meaningless.” 

“You have, perhaps, reached Nirvana?” the 
Premier enquired. 

“Yes. That is why I am immortal. I have 
reached Nirvana.” 

“By a trick.” 

“If you like — by a trick.” 

“Then I cannot think you will stay there 


230 


THE BLUE GERM 


for long,” said the Premier. “I shall look for- 
ward to my attack of the Blue Disease with 
interest. It will be amusing to note one’s 
sensations.” 

It was clear to me that he was defending 
himself against my greater knowledge, but it 
was a matter of no importance to me. I was 
faintly oppressed by the dreary immensity of 
the room. I had become sensitive to atmos- 
phere, and the feeling of that room was not 
harmonious. 

The Premier stood in deep thought. 

“If the germ prolongs life, it will lead to 
complications,” he remarked. “The question 
of being too old has attracted public attention 
for some time now, which shows the way the 
wind is blowing. Oldness has become, in a 
small degree, a problem. The world is 
younger than it used to be — more impatient, 
more anxious to live a free life, to escape from 
any form of bondage. And so people have 
begun to ask what we are to do with our old 
men.” 

He paused and looked at Jason. 

“My friend Jason thinks these murders are 
caused indirectly by the germ.” 


AT DOWNING STREET 231 

“It is possible.” 

“It seems fantastic. But there may be 
something in it.” The Premier raised his eyes 
and studied the ceiling. “There is certainly 
some excitement abroad. We are dealing with 
an unprecedented situation. I therefore pro- 
pose to say to-night that if, in the course of 
time, we find that life is prolonged and disease 
done away with, new laws will have to be con- 
sidered.” 

“Not only new laws,” I said. “We shall 
have to reconstruct the whole future of life. 
But there is no hurry. There is plenty of 
time. There is eternity before us.” 

“What do you eat?” demanded the Premier 
suddenly. 

“A little bread or biscuit.” 

He clasped his hands behind his back and 
surveyed me for quite a minute. 

“I don’t believe you’re a quack,” he ob- 
served. “But when you walked into the room, 
I was doubtful.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you wouldn’t look at me squarely.” 

“Why should I look at you squarely? I 
looked at you and saw you. I have no desire 


232 


THE BLUE GERM 


to make any impression on you, or to dominate 
you in any way. It was sufficient just to see 
you. As Immortals, we do not waste our time 
looking at one another squarely. An Im- 
mortal cannot act.” 

The Premier smiled to himself and took out 
his watch. 

“I am obliged to you for the instance,” he 
said. “Good-night.” 

I rose and walked towards the door. On 
my way I stopped before a vast dingy oil- 
painting. 

“Why do you all deceive yourselves that 
you admire things like that? Throw it away. 
When you become an Immortal you won’t live 
here.” 

The Premier and Jason stood together on 
the hearth-rug. They watched me intently as 
I went out and closed the door behind me. A 
servant met me on the landing and escorted 
me downstairs. I observed that he was an Im- 
mortal. 

“What are you doing here?” I asked. 

“I am a spectator,” he said in a calm voice. 
“And you?” 

“I, too, am a spectator.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


NIGHT OF AN IMMORTAL 

1 PASSED a most remarkable night. On 
reaching home I went to bed as usual. 
My mind was busy, but what busied it was not 
the events of the day. 

I lay in the darkness in a state of absolute 
contentment. My eyes were closed. My 
body was motionless, and felt warm and com- 
fortable. I was quite aware of the position 
of my limbs in space and I could hear the sound 
of passing vehicles outside. I was not asleep 
and yet at the same time I was not awake. I 
knew I was not properly awake because, when 
I tried to move, there seemed to be a resistance 
to the impulse, which prevented it from reach- 
ing the muscles. As I have already said, I 
could feel. The sensation of my body was 
there, though probably diminished, but the 
power of movement was checked, though only 
slightly. And all the time I lay in that state, 
my mind was perfectly lucid and continually 

233 


234 


THE BLUE GERM 


active. I thought about many things and the 
power of thought was very great, in that I 
could keep my attention fixed hour after hour 
on the same train of thought, go backwards 
and forwards along it, change and modify its 
gradations, just as if I were dealing with some 
material and plastic formation. Since that 
time I have become acquainted with a doctrine 
that teaches that thoughts are in the nature of 
things — that a definite thought is a formation 
in some tenuous medium of matter, just as a 
cathedral is a structure in gross matter. This 
is certainly the kind of impression I gained then. 

It was now in the light of contrast that I 
could reflect on the rusty and clumsy way in 
which I had previously done my thinking, and 
I remembered with a faint amusement that 
there had been a time when I considered that I 
had a very clear and logical mind. Logical! 
What did we, as mere mortals full of personal 
desire, know of logic? The reflection seemed 
infinitely humorous. My thoughts had about 
them a new quality of stability. They formed 
themselves into clear images, which had a re- 
markable permanence. Their power and in- 
fluence was greatly increased. If, for exam- 


NIGHT OF AN IMMORTAL 


235 


pie, I thought out a bungalow situated on the 
cliff, I built up, piece by piece in my mind, the 
complete picture ; and once built up it remained 
there so that I could see it as a whole, and 
almost, so to speak, walk round it and view it 
from different angles. I could lay aside this 
thought-creation just as I might lay aside a 
model in clay, and later on bring it back into 
my mind, as fresh and clear as ever. The 
enjoyment of thinking under such conditions 
is impossible to describe. It was like the joy 
of a man, blind from childhood, suddenly re- 
ceiving his sight. 

As ordinary mortals, we are all familiar with 
the apparently real scenes that occur in dreams. 
In our dreams we see buildings and walk 
round them. We see flights of steps and 
climb them. We apparently touch and taste 
food. We meet friends and strangers and 
converse with them. At times we seem to gaze 
over landscapes covered with woods and mead- 
ows. 

It seemed to me that the magic of dreams 
had in some way become attached to thought. 
For as Immortals we did not dream as mortals 
do. In place of dreaming, we created im- 


236 


THE BLUE GERM 


mense thought-forms, working as it were on a 
new plane of matter whose resources were in- 
exhaustible. 

That night I built my ideal bungalow and 
when I had finished it I constructed my ideal 
garden. And then I made a sea and a coast- 
line, and when it was finished it was so real to 
me that I actually seemed to go into its rooms, 
sit on the verandah, breathe in its sea-airs and 
listen to the surf below its cliff. I remember 
that one of its rooms did not please me entirely, 
and that I seemed to pull it down — in thought 
— and reconstruct it according to my wish. 
This took time, for brick by brick I thought 
the new room into existence. One law that 
governed that state was easy to grasp, for 
whatever you did not think out clearly assumed 
a blurred unsatisfactory form. It became 
clear to me as early as that first night of im- 
mortality that the more familiar a man was 
with matter on the earth and its ways and pos- 
sibilities, the more easily could he make his 
constructions on that plan of thought. 

The whole of that night I lay in this state of 
creative joy and I know that my body remained 
motionless. It seemed that only a film divided 


NIGHT OF AN IMMORTAL 


237 

me from the use of my limbs, but that film was 
definite. At eight o’clock on that morning, I 
became aware of a vague feeling of strain. It 
was a very slight sensation, but its effect was to 
make the thoughts that occupied my conscious- 
ness to become less definite. I had to make 
an effort to keep them distinct. The strain 
slowly became greater. It had begun with a 
sense of distance, but it seemed to get nearer, 
and I experienced a feeling that I can only 
compare to as that which a man has when he 
is losing his balance and about to fall. 

The strain ended suddenly. I found myself 
moving my limbs. I opened my eyes and 
looked round. The graphic, visible quality of 
my thoughts had now vanished. I was awake. 

I have given the above account of the night 
of an Immortal, because it has seemed to me 
right that some record should be left of the 
effect of the germ on the mind. I would ex- 
plain the inherent power of thought as being 
due to the freedom from the ordinary desires 
of mortals, which waste and dissipate the en- 
ergies of the mind . . . but of that I cannot be 
certain. 


CHAPTER XXV 


OUR FLIGHT 

1 GOT out of bed and began to examine my 
clothes. They were strewn about the 
floor and on chairs. The colour of them 
seemed peculiar to my senses. My frock coat, 
of heavy black material, with curious braiding 
and buttons, fascinated me. I counted the 
number of separate things that made up my 
complete attire. They were twenty-four in 
number. I discovered that in addition to 
these articles of actual wearing material I was 
in the habit of carrying on my person about 
sixty other articles. For some reason I found 
these calculations very interesting. I had a 
kind of counting mania that morning. I 
counted all the things I used in dressing my- 
self. I counted the number of stripes on my 
trousers and on my wall-paper; I counted the 
number of rooms in my house, the articles of 
furniture that they contained, and the number 
of electric lamps. I went into the kitchen and 

238 


i 


OUR FLIGHT 


239 


counted everything I could see, to the astonish- 
ment of my servants. I observed that my cook 
showed a faint blue stain in her eyes, but that 
the other servants showed no signs as yet of 
the Blue Disease. I went into my study and 
counted the books ; I opened one of them. It 
was the British Pharmacopoeia. I began 
mechanically to count the number of drugs it 
contained. I was still counting them when the 
breakfast gong sounded. I went across the 
hall and counted on my way the number of 
sticks and hats and coats that were there. I 
finished up by counting the number of things 
on the breakfast table. Then I picked up the 
newspaper. There were, by the way, one hun- 
dred and four distinct things on my breakfast 
table. 

The paper was full of the records of crime 
and of our names. 

The account of the Prime Minister’s state- 
ment in the House was given in full. Our 
names were printed in large letters, and appar- 
ently our qualifications had been looked up, 
for they were mentioned, together with a little 
biographical sketch. In a perfectly calm and 
observant spirit I read the closely-printed 


240 


THE BLUE GERM 


column. My eye paused for some time at an 
account of my personal appearance — “a small, 
insignificant-looking man, with straight blue- 
black hair, like a Japanese doll, and an untidy 
moustache, speaking very deliberately and with 
a manner of extreme self-assurance.” 

Extreme self-assurance! I reflected that 
there might, after all, be some truth in what 
the reporter said. On the night that I had 
spoken at the Queen’s Hall meeting I had 
been quite self-possessed. I pursued the nar- 
rative and smiled slightly at a description of 
the Russian — “a loosely-built, bearded giant, 
unkempt in appearance, and with huge square 
hands and pale Mongolian eyes which roll 
like those of a maniac.” That was certainly 
unfair, unless the reporter had seen him at 
the restaurant when Sarakoff drank the cham- 
pagne. I was about to continue, when a red 
brick suddenly landed neatly on my breakfast 
table, and raised the number of articles on that 
table to one hundred and five. 

There was a tinkle of falling glass; I looked 
up and saw that the window was shattered. 
The muslin curtain in front of it had been torn 
down by the passage of the brick, and the 


OUR FLIGHT 


241 


street without was visible from where I sat. 
A considerable crowd had gathered on the 
pavement. They saw me and a loud cry went 
up. The front door bell was ringing and there 
was a sound of heavy blows that echoed 
through the house. 

My housemaid came running into the room. 
She uttered a shriek as she saw the faces be- 
yond the window and ran out again. I heard 
a door at the back of the house slam suddenly. 

A couple of men, decently enough dressed, 
were getting over the area rails with the intent 
of climbing in at the window. I jumped up 
and went swiftly upstairs. So far I was calm. 
I entered Sarakoff’s bedroom. It was in dark- 
ness. The Russian was lying motionless on 
the bed. I shook him by the shoulder. It 
seemed impossible to rouse him, and yet in 
outward appearance he seemed only lightly 
asleep. I redoubled my efforts and at length 
he opened his eyes, and his whole body, which 
had felt under my hands as limp and flaccid as 
a pillow, suddenly seemed to tighten up and 
become resilient. 

“Get up,” I said. “They’re trying to break 
into the house. We may be in danger. We 


242 THE BLUE GERM 

can escape by the back door through the 
mews.” 

The blows on the front door were clearly 
audible. 

“I’ve been listening to it for some time,” he 
said. “But I seemed to have lost the knack 
of waking up properly.” 

“We have no time to waste,” I said firmly. 

We went quickly downstairs. Sarakoff had 
flung a blue dressing-gown over his pyjamas 
and thrust his feet into a pair of slippers. On 
reaching the hall there was a loud crack and a 
roar of voices. In an instant the agonizing 
fear swept over us. We dashed to the back of 
the house, through the servants’ quarters and 
out into the mews. Without pausing for an 
instant we ran down the cobbled alley and 
emerged upon Devonshire Street. We turned 
to the right, dashed across Portland Place and 
reached Great Portland Street. We ran 
steadily, wholly mastered by the great fear of 
physical injury, and oblivious to the people 
around us. We passed the Underground 
Station. Our flight down the Euston Road 
was extraordinary. Sarakoff was in front, his 
dressing-gown flying, .and his pink pyjamas 


OUR FLIGHT 


243 

making a vivid area of colour in the drab 
street. I followed a few yards in the rear, 
hatless, with my breath coming in gasps. 

It was Sarakoff who first saw the taxi-cab. 
He veered suddenly into the road and held out 
his arms. The cab slowed down and in a mo- 
ment we were inside it. 

“Go on,” shouted Sarakoff. ‘‘Drive on. 
Don’t stop.” 

The driver was a man of spirit and needed 
no further directions. The cab jerked for- 
ward and we sped towards St. Pancras Station. 

“Follow the tram lines up to Hampstead,” 
I called out, and he nodded. We lay gasping 
in the back of the cab, cannoning helplessly as 
it swayed round corners. By the time we had 
reached Hampstead our fear had left us. 

The cab drew up on the Spaniard’s Walk 
and we alighted. It was a bleak and misty 
morning. The road seemed deserted. A thin 
column of steam rose from the radiator of the 
taxi, and there was a smell of over-heated 
oil. 

“Sharp work that,” said the driver, getting 
out and beating his arms across his chest. His 


244 


THE BLUE GERM 


eyes moved over us with frank curiosity. Sara- 
koff shivered and drew his dressing-gown 
closely round him. 


CHAPTER XXVI 

on the Spaniard’s walk 

I PAID the man half-a-sovereign. There 
was a seat near by and Sarakoff deposited 
himself upon it. I joined him. On those 
heights the morning air struck chill. London, 
misty-blue, lay before us. The taxi-man took 
out his pipe and began to fill it. 

“Lucky me cornin’ along like that,” he ob- 
served. “If it hadn’t been because of my 
missus I wouldn’t have been out so early.” He 
blew a puff of smoke and continued: “This 
Blue Disease seems to confuse folk. My 
missus was took with it last night,” He 
paused to examine us at his leisure. “When 
did you get it?” 

“We became immortal the day before yes- 
terday,” said Sarakoff. 

The taxi-man took his pipe out of his mouth 
and stared. 

“You ain’t them two doctors what’s in the 

245 


246 


THE BLUE GERM 


paper this morning, by any chance ?” he asked. 
“Them as is supposed to ’ave invented this 
Blue Disease?” 

We nodded. He emitted a low whistle and 
gazed thoughtfully at us. At length he spoke. 
I noticed his tone had changed. 

“As I was saying, my missus was took with 
it in the night. I had a job waking ’er up, and 
when she opened her eyes I near had a fit. 
We’d had a bit of a tiff overnight, but she got 
up as quiet as a lamb and never said a word 
agin me, which surprised me. When I ’ad 
dressed myself I went into the kitchen to get a 
bit o’ breakfast, and she was setting in a chair 
starin’ at nothing. The kettle wasn’t boiling, 
and there wasn’t nothing ready, so I asked ’er 
quite polite, what she was doing. T’m think- 
ing,’ she says, and continues sitting in the chair. 
After a bit of reasoning with her, I lost my 
temper and picked up a leg of a chair, what we 
had broke the evening previous when we was 
’aving a argument. She jump up and bolted 
out of the house, just as she was, with her ’air 
in curl-papers, and that’s the last I saw of her. 
I waited an hour and then took the old cab out 
of the garage, and I was going to look for my 


ON THE SPANIARD’S WALK 247 


breakfast when I met you two gents.” He 
took his pipe out of his mouth and wiped his 
lips. “Now I put it all down to this ’ere Blue 
Disease. It’s sent my missus off ’er head.” 

“There’s no reason why you should think 
your wife mad simply because she ran away 
when you tried to strike her,” I said. “It’s 
surely a proof of her sanity.” 

He shook his head. 

“That ain’t correct,” he said, with conviction. 
“She always liked a scrap. She’s a powerful 
young woman, and her language is extraor- 
dinary fine when she’s roused, and she knows 
it. I can’t understand it.” 

He looked up suddenly. 

“So it was you two who made this disease, 
was it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Fancy that!” he said. “Fancy a couple of 
doctors inventing a disease. It does sound a 
shame, don’t it?” 

“Wait till you get it,” said Sarakoff. 

“It seems to me you’ve been and done 
something nasty,” he went on. “Ain’t there 
enough diseases without you two going and 
makin’ a new one? It’s a fair sickener to think 


248 


THE BLUE GERM 


of all the diseases there are — measles and 
softenin’ of the brain, and ’eaving stummicks 
and what not. What made you do it? That’s 
what I want to know.” He was getting angry. 
He pointed the stem of his pipe at us accus- 
ingly. His small eyes shone. “It’s fair sick- 
ening,” he muttered. “I’ve never took to doc- 
tors, nor parsons — never in my life.” 

He spat expressively. 

“And my wife, too, clean barmy,” he con- 
tinued. “Who ’ave I got to thank for that? 
You two gents. Doctors, you call yourselves. 
I arsk you, what is doctors? They never does 
me any good. I never seed anyone they’d 
done any good. And yet they keeps on and 
no one says nothing. It’s fair sickening.” 

There was a sound of footsteps behind me. 
I turned and saw a policeman climbing slowdy 
up the bank towards the road. Like all police- 
men he appeared not to notice us until he was 
abreast of our seat. Then he stopped and eyed 
each of us in turn. His boots were muddy. 

“These gents,” said the taxi-man, “ ’ave been 
and done something nasty.” 

The phrase seemed attractive to him and he 
repeated it. The policeman, a tall muscular 


ON THE SPANIARD’S WALK 249 


man, surveyed us in silence. Sarakoff, his 
hair and beard dishevelled, was leaning back 
in a corner of the seat, with his legs crossed. 
His dressing-gown was tucked closely round 
him, and below it, his pink pyjamas fluttered 
in the thin breeze. His expression was calm. 

The taxi-man continued — 

“I picked these gents up in the Euston 
Road. They was in a hurry. I thought 
they’d done something ordinary, same as what 
you or me might do, but it seems I was wrong. 
They’ve been and done something nasty. 
They’ve gone and invented this ’ere Blue Dis- 
ease.” 

The policeman raised his helmet a little and 
the taxi-man uttered an exclamation. 

4 ‘Why, you’ve got it yourself,” he said, and 
stared. The policeman’s eyes were stained a 
vivid blue. 

“An immortal policeman !” murmured Sara- 
koff dreamily. 

The discovery seemed to discomfit the taxi- 
man. The tide of indignation in him was de- 
flected, and he shifted his feet. The police- 
man, with a deliberation that was magnificent 
advanced to the seat and sat down beside me. 


250 


THE BLUE GERM 


“Good-morning/’ I said. 

“Good-morning,” he replied in a deep calm 
voice. He removed his helmet from his head 
and allowed the wind to stir his hair. The 
taxi-man moved a step nearer us. 

“You ought to arrest them,” he said. 
“Here’s my wife got it, and you, and who’s to 
say when it will end? They’re doctors, too. 
I alius had my own suspicions of doctors, and 
’ere they are, just as I supposed, inventing 
diseases to keep themselves going. That’s 
what you ought to do . . . arrest them. I’ll 
drive you all down to the police-station.” The 
policeman replaced his helmet, crossed his long 
blue legs, and leaned hack in the corner of 
the seat. Side by side on the seat Sarakoff, 
the policeman, and I gazed tranquilly at the 
figure of the taxi-man, at the taxi-cab, and at 
the misty panorama of London that lay beyond 
the Vale of Health. The expression of anger 
returned to the taxi-man’s face. 

“And ’ere am I, standing and telling you 
to do your duty, and all the time I haven’t had 
my breakfast,” he said bitterly. “If you was 
to cop them two gents, your name would be in 
all the evenin’ papers.” He paused, and 


ON THE SPANIARD’S WALK 


251 


frowned, conscious that he was making little 
impression on the upholder of law and order. 
“Why ’aven’t I ’ad my breakfast? All be- 
cause of these two blokes. I tell you, you 
ought to cop them.” 

“When I was a boy,” said the policeman, “I 
used to collect stamps.” 

“Did yer?” exclaimed the taxi-man sarcasti- 
cally. “You do interest me, reely you do.” 

“Yes, I used to collect stamps.” The po- 
liceman settled himself more comfortably. 
“And afore that I was in the ’abit of collecting 
bits o’ string.” 

“You surprise me,” said the taxi-man. 
“And what did you collect afore you collected 
bits of string?” 

“So far as I recollect, I didn’t collect noth- 
ing. I was trying to remember while I was 
walking across the Heath.” He turned to us. 
“Did you collect anything?” 

“Yes,” I said. “I used to collect beetles.” 

“Beetles?” The policeman nodded thought- 
fully. “I never had an eye for beetles. But, 
as I said, I collected stamps. I remember I 
would walk for miles to get a new stamp, and 
of an evening I would sit and count the stamps 


252 


THE BLUE GERM 


in my album over and over again till my head 
was fair giddy.” He paused and stroked his 
clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. “I recollect 
as if it was yesterday how giddy my head used 
to get.” 

The taxi-man seemed about to say some- 
thing, but he changed his mind. 

“Why did you collect beetles?” the police- 
man asked me. 

“I was interested in them.” 

“But that ain’t a suitable answer,” he re- 
plied. “It ain’t suitable. That’s what I’ve 
been seeing for the first time this morning. 
The point is — why was you interested in 
beetles, and why was I interested in bits o’ 
string and stamps?” 

“Yes, he’s quite right,” said Sarakoff ; “that 
certainly is the point.” 

“To say that we are interested in a thing is 
no suitable explanation,” continued the police- 
man. “After I’d done collecting stamps ” 

“Why don’t you arrest these two blokes?” 
shouted the taxi-man suddenly. “Why can’t 
you do yer duty, you blue fathead?” 

“I’m coming to that,” said the policeman 
imperturbably. “As I was saying, after I 


ON THE SPANIARD’S WALK 253 

collected stamps, I collected knives — any sort 
of old rusty knife — and then I joined the force 
and began to collect men. I collected all sorts 
o’ men — tall and short, fat and thin. Now 
why did I do that?” 

“It seems to me,” observed the taxi-man, 
suddenly calm, “that somebody will be collect- 
ing you soon, and there won’t be no need to 
arsk the reason why.” 

“That’s where you and me don’t agree,” 
said the policeman. “I came to the conclusion 
this morning that we don’t ask the reason why 
enough— not by ’alf. Now if somebody did 
as you say, and started collectin’ policemen, 
what would be the reason?” 

“Reason?” shouted the taxi-man. “Don’t 
arsk me for a reason.” 

He turned to his taxi-cab and jerked the 
starting handle violently. The clatter of the 
engine arose. He climbed into his seat, and 
pulled at his gears savagely. In a few mo- 
ments he had turned his cab, after wrenching 
in fury at the steering-wheel, and was jolting 
down the road in the morning brightness in 
search of breakfast. 


CHAPTER XXVII 
Leonora’s voice 

4< 1VT Y theory,” said the policeman, “is that 
IV A collectin’ — and by that I mean all 
sorts of collection, including that of money — 
comes from a craving to ’ave something what 
other people ’aven’t got. It comes from a kind 
o’ pride which is foolish. Take a man like 
Morgan, for instance. Now he spent his life 
collecting dollars, and he never once stopped 
to ask ’imself why he was doin’ it. I ’eard 
a friend of mine, a socialist he was, saying 
as ’ow no one had wasted his life more than 
Morgan. At the time it struck me as a silly 
kind of thing to say. But now I seem to see 
it in a different light.” He meditated for 
some minutes. “It’s the reason why — that’s 
what we ’aven’t thought of near enough.” 

I was about to reply when a motor-car 
stopped before us. It was a large green 
limousine. It drew up suddenly, with a scrap- 
254 


LEONORA’S VOICE 


255 


ing of tyres, and a woman got out of it. I 
recognized her at once. It was Leonora. She 
was wearing a motoring-coat of russet-brown 
material, and her hat was tied with a veil. 

“Alexis!” she exclaimed. 

Sarakoff roused himself He stood up and 
bowed. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. 

“Leonora,” he said, “I am so glad to see you. 
We are just taking the air, and discussing a 
few matters of general interest.” He patted 
her on the shoulder. “I congratulate you, 
Leonora. You are an Immortal. It suits 
you very well.” 

She was certainly one of the Immortals. 
The stain in her eyes was wonderfully vivid, 
but it did not produce a displeasing effect, as I 
had fancied it would. Indeed, her eyes had 
lost their hard restless look, and in place of it 
was an expression of bewilderment. 

“What has happened to me?” she exclaimed. 
“Alexis, what is this that you have done to 
me?” 

“What I told you about at the Pyramid 
Restaurant. You have got the germ in you 
and now you are immortal. Sit down, Leon- 


256 


THE BLUE GERM 


ora. I find it warmer when I am sitting. 
My friend and I had to leave Harley Street 
somewhat hurriedly, and I had not time to 
dress.” 

She sat down and loosened her veil. 

“Last night a dreadful thing happened,” she 
said. “And yet, although it was dreadful, I 
do not feel upset about it. I have been trying 
to feel upset — as I should — but I can’t. Let 
me tell you about it. I lay down yesterday 
afternoon in my room after tea to rest. I al- 
ways do that when I can. I think I fell asleep 
for a moment. Then I felt a curious light 
feeling, as if I had suddenly been for a long 
holiday, and I got up. Alexis, when I saw 
myself in the glass I was horrified. I had the 
Blue Disease.” 

“Of course,” said Sarakoff. “You were 
bound to get it. You knew that.” 

“I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t very 
upset, only I felt something dreadful had 
happened. Well, I went to the Opera as usual 
and everyone was very sympathetic, but I said 
I was all right. But when my call came, I 
suddenly knew — quite calmly, but certainly — 
that I could not sing properly. I went on the 


LEONORA’S VOICE 


257 


stage and began, but it was just as if I were 
singing for the first time in my life. They had 
to ring the curtain down. I apologized. I 
was quite calm and smiling. But there the 
fact remained — I had lost my voice. I had 
failed in public.” 

“Extraordinary,” muttered Sarakoff. “Are 
you sure it was not just nervousness?” 

“No, I’m certain of that. I felt absolutely 
self-possessed; far more so than I usually do, 
and that is saying a lot. No, my voice has 
gone. The Blue Disease has destroyed it. 
And yet I somehow don’t feel any resentment. 
I don’t understand. Richard, tell me what 
has happened.” 

I shook my head. 

“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t explain. 
The germ is doing things that I never fore- 
saw.” 

“I ought to be furious with you,” she said. 

“Try to be — if you can,” smiled Sarakoff. 
“That’s one of the strange things. I can’t be 
furious. I have only two emotions — perfect 
calmness, or violent, horrible fear.” 

“Fear?” she exclaimed. 

“Yes, fear of the worst kind conceivable.” 


258 


THE BLUE GERM 


“I understand the perfect calmness,” she 
said, “but the fear — no.” 

“You will understand in time.” 

The policeman listened to our conversation 
with grave attention. Leonora was sitting be- 
tween Sarakoff and me, and did not seem to 
find the presence of the visitor surprising. 
The green limousine stood in the road before 
us, the chauffeur sitting at the wheel looking 
steadily in front of him. The Heath seemed 
remarkably empty. The mist over London 
was lifting under the influence of the sun. 

I was revolving in my mind a theory as to 
why Leonora had lost her voice. I already 
knew that the germ produced odd changes in 
the realm of likes and dislikes. I remembered 
Sarakoff’s words that the germ was killing 
desire. My thoughts were clear, easy and 
lucid, and the problem afforded by Leonora’s 
singular experience gave me a sense of quiet 
enjoyment. If the germ really did do away 
with desire, why should it at the same time do 
away with Leonora’s wonderful voice? I re- 
called with marvellous facility everything I 
knew about her. My memory supplied me 
wfith every detail at the dinner of the Pyramid 


LEONORA’S VOICE 


259 


Restaurant. The words of Sarakoff, which 
had at the time seemed coarse, came back to me. 
He had called her a vain ambitious cold- 
hearted woman, who thought that her voice 
and her beauty could not be beaten. 

My reflections were interrupted by the po- 
liceman. 

“The lady,” he remarked, “has lost her voice 
sudden-like. Now I lost my ’abit of arresting 
people sudden-like too. I lost it this morning. 
Any other time I should have taken the gentle- 
man in the dressing-gown in charge for being 
improperly dressed. But this morning it don’t 
come natural to me. If he wants to wear a 
dressing-gown on the Spaniard’s Walk, he pre- 
sumably ’as his own reasons. It don’t concern 

_ 3 3 

me. 

“It seems to me that the germ takes ambi- 
tion out of us,” said Sarakoff. 

“Ambition?” said the policeman. “No, 
that ain’t right. I’ve got ambition still — only 
it’s a different kind of ambition.” 

“I have no ambition now,” said Leonora at 
length. “Alexis is right. This malady has 
taken the ambition out of me. I may be 
Immortal, but if I am, then I am an Immortal 


260 


THE BLUE GERM 


without ambition. I seem to be lost, to be 
suddenly diffused into space or time, to be a 
kind of vapour. Something has dissolved in 
me — something hard, bright, alert. I do not 
know why I am here. The car came round 
as usual to take me for my morning run. I got 
in — why I don’t know.” 

Sarakoff was studying her attentively. 

“It is very strange,” he said. “You used 
to arouse a feeling of strength and determina- 
tion in me, Leonora. You used to stimulate 
me intensely. This morning I only feel one 
thing about you.” 

“What is that?” 

“I feel that I have cheated you.” 

“Cheated her?” exclaimed the policeman. 
“How do you come to that conclusion?” 

“I’ve destroyed the one thing that was her- 
self — I’ve destroyed desire in her. I’ve left 
her a mind devoid of all values tacked on to a 
body that no longer interests her. For what 
was Leonora, who filled the hearts of men with 
madness, but an incarnation of desire?” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE KILLING OF DESIRE 

W E drove in Leonora’s car through Lon- 
don. The streets were crowded. I do 
not think that much routine work was done 
that day. People formed little crowds on the 
pavements, and at Oxford Circus someone was 
speaking to a large concourse from the seat of 
a motor lorry. 

Leonora seemed extraordinarily apathetic. 
She leaned back in the car and seemed uninter- 
ested in the passing scene. Sarakoff, wrapped 
up in a fur rug, stared dreamily in front of him. 
As far as I can recall them, my feelings during 
that swift tour of London were vague. The 
buildings, the people, the familiar signs in the 
streets, the shop windows, all seemed to have 
lost in some degree the quality of reality. I 
was detached from them; and whenever I made 
an effort to rouse myself, the ugliness and 
meaninglessness of everything I saw seemed 
strangely emphasized. 

261 


262 


THE BLUE GERM 


When we reached Harley Street we found 
my house little damaged, save for a broken 
panel in the green front door and a few panes 
of glass smashed in the lower windows. The 
house was empty. The servants had vanished. 

Leonora said she wished to go home and she 
drove off in the car. Sarakoff did not even 
wave farewell to her, but went straight up to 
his room and lay down on the bed. I went into 
the study and sat in my chair by the fireplace. 

I was roused by the opening of the door, and 
looking up I saw a face that I recognized, but 
for the moment I could not fit a name to it. 
My visitor came in calmly, and sat down op- 
posite me. 

“My name is Thornduck,” he said. “I 
came to consult you about my health a few 
days ago.” 

“I remember,” I said. 

“Your front door was open so I walked in.” 

I nodded. His eyes, stained with blue, 
rested on me. 

“I have been thinking,” he said. “It struck 
me that there was something you forgot to tell 
me the other day.” 

I nodded again. 


THE KILLING OF DESIRE 263 

“You began, if you remember, by asking me 
if I believed in miracles. That set me think- 
ing, and as I saw your name in the paper, con- 
nected with the Blue Disease, I knew you were 
a miracle-monger. How did you do it?” 

“I don’t know. It was all due to my black 
cat. Tripped over it, got concussion and re- 
gained my senses with the idea that led up to 
the germ.” 

He smiled. 

“A black cat,” he mused. “I wonder if it’s 
all black magic?” 

“That’s what Hammer suggested. I don’t 
know what kind of magic it is.” 

“Of course it is magic,” said Thornduck. 

“Magic?” 

“Of course. Have you even thought what 
kind of magic it is?” 

“No.” 

“A big magic, such as you have worked, is 
just bringing the distant future into the pres- 
ent with a rush.” 

“Sarakoff had some such idea,” I murmured. 
“He spoke of anticipating our evolution by 
centuries at one stroke.” 

“Exactly. That’s magic. The question 


THE BLUE GERM 


264 

remains — is it black magic?” He crossed his 
thin legs and leaned back in the chair. “I 
got the Blue Disease the day before yesterday 
and since then I’ve thought more than I have 
ever done in all my life. When I read in the 
paper this morning that you said the Blue 
Disease conferred immortality on people I was 
not surprised. I had come to the same con- 
clusion in a roundabout way. But I want to 
ask you one question. Did you know before- 
hand that it killed desire V* 

“No. Neither Sarakoff nor I foresaw 
that.” 

“Well, if you had let me into your confidence 
before I could have told you that right away in 
the general principle contained in the saying 
that you can’t eat your cake and have it. It’s 
just another aspect of the law of the conserva- 
tion of energy, isn’t it?” 

“I always had a doubt ” 

“Naturally. It’s intuitional. The laws of 
the universe are just intuitions put into words. 
You’ve carried out an enormous spiritual ex- 
periment to prove what all religions have al- 
ways asserted however obscurely. All religion 
teaches that you can’t eat your cake and have 


THE KILLING OF DESIRE 


265 


it. That’s the essence of religion, and you, 
formerly a cut-and-dried scientist, have gone 
and proved it to the whole world for eternity. 
Rather odd, isn’t it?” 

I watched his face with interest. It was 
thin and the complexion was transparent. 
His eyes, wonderfully wide and brilliantly 
stained by the germ, produced in me a new sen- 
sation. It was akin to enthusiasm, but in it 
was something of love, such as I had never ex- 
perienced for any man. I became uplifted. 
My whole being began to vibrate to some 
strangely delicate and exquisite influence, and 
I knew that Thornduck was the medium 
through which these impulses reached me. It 
was not his words but the atmosphere round 
him that raised me temporarily to this degree 
of receptivity. 

“It is odd,” I said. 

He continued to look at me. 

“You have a message for me?” I observed 
at last. 

“Why, yes, I have,” he replied. “You have 
done wrong, Harden. Y ou have worked black 
magic, and it will fail out of sheer necessity.” 

“Tell me what I have done.” 


266 


THE BLUE GERM 


“You have artificially produced a condition 
of life many ages before humanity is ready 
to receive it. The body of desire is being 
worked up by endless labour into something 
more delicate and sensitive — into a transmu- 
tation that we can only dimly understand. 
At present the whole plot of life is based 
on the principle of desire and in this way 
people are kept busy, constantly spurred on 
to thought and activity by essentially selfish 
motives. It is only in abstract thought that 
the selfless ideal has a real place as yet, but the 
very fact that it is there shows what lies at the 
top of the ladder that humanity is so pain- 
fully climbing. As long as desire is the plot of 
life, death is necessary, for its terrible shadow 
sharpens desire and makes the prizes more 
alluring and the struggle more desperate. 
And so man goes on, ceaselessly active and 
striving, for without activity and striving there 
is no perfecting of the instrument. Y ou can’t 
have upward progress in conditions of stag- 
nation. All that strange incredible side of 
life, called the Devil, is the inner plot of life 
that makes the wheels go round and evolution 
possible. It is vitally necessary to keep the 


THE KILLING OF DESIRE 


267 


vast machinery running at the present level of 
evolution. Desire is the furnace of the engine- 
house. The wheels go round and the fabric is 
slowly and intricately spun and only pessimists 
and bigots fail to see evidence of any purpose 
in it all. Now what has your Blue Disease 
done? It has taken the whole plot out of life 
at its present stage of development at one fell 
swoop. It has killed Desire — put out the 
furnace before the pattern in the fabric is 
nearly complete.” 

“But I never could see that, Thornduck. 
How could I foresee that?” 

“If you had had a grain of vision you would 
have known that you couldn’t give humanity 
the gift of immortality without some com- 
pensatory loss. The law of compensation is 
as sure as the law of gravity — you ought to 
know that.” 

“I had dim feelings — I knew Sarakoff was 
wrong, with his dream of physical bliss — but 
how could I foresee that desire would go?” 

“As a mere scientist, test-tube in hand, you 
couldn’t. But you’re better than that. 
Y ou’ve got a glimmering of moral imagination 
in you.” 


268 


THE BLUE GERM 


He fell into a reverie. 

“You are keeping something back. Tell me 
plainly what you mean,” I asked. 

“Don’t you see that if the germ lasts any 
length of time,” he said, “the machinery will 
run down and — stop?” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE REVOLT OF THE YOUNG 

A MID all the strife and clamour of the next 
few days one thing stands out now in my 
mind with sinister radiance. It is that pe- 
culiar form of lawlessness which broke out and 
had as its object the destruction of the old. 

There is no doubt that the idea of immor- 
tality got hold of people and carried them away 
completely. The daily miracles that were oc- 
curring of the renewal of health and vigour, 
the cure of disease and the passing of those 
infirmities that are associated with advancing 
years, impressed the popular imagination 
deeply. As a result there grew up a wide- 
spread discontent and bitterness. The young 
— those who were as yet free from the germ — 
conceived in their hearts that an immense in- 
justice had been done to them. 

It must be remembered that life at that time 
had taken on a strange and abnormal aspect. 
Its horizons had been suddenly altered by the 
germ. Although breadth had been given to it 

269 


no 


THE BLUE GERM 


from the point of years, a curious contraction 
had appeared at the same time. It was a 
contraction felt most acutely by those in in- 
ferior positions. It was a contraction that 
owed its existence to the sense of being shut in 
eternally by those in higher positions, whom 
death no longer would remove at convenient 
intervals. The student felt it as he looked at 
his professor. The clerk felt it as he looked at 
his manager. The subaltern felt it as he 
looked at his colonel. The daughter felt it 
when she looked at her mother, and the son 
when he looked at his father. The germ had 
given simultaneously a tremendous blow to 
freedom, and a tremendous impetus to free- 
dom. 

Thus, perhaps for the first time in history, 
there swiftly began an accumulation and con- 
centration of those forces of discontent which, 
in normal times, only manifest themselves here 
and there in the relationships between old and 
young men, and are regarded with good- 
humoured patience. A kind of war broke out 
all over the country. 

This war was terrible in its nature. All the 
secret weariness and unspoken bitterness of 


THE REVOLT OF THE YOUNG 271 


the younger generation found a sudden outlet. 
Goaded to madness by the prospect of a future 
of continual repression, in which the old would 
exercise an undiminished authority, the 
younger men and women plunged into a form 
of excess over which a veil must be drawn. 
. . . There is only one thing which can be re- 
corded in their favour. Chloroform and 
drowning appear to have been the methods 
most often used, and they are perhaps merciful 
ways of death. The great London clubs be- 
came sepulchres. All people who had re- 
ceived the highest distinctions and honours, 
whose names were household words, were re- 
moved with ruthless determination. Scarcely 
a single well-known man or woman of the older 
generation, whose name was honoured in sci- 
ence, literature, art, business or politics, was 
spared. All aged and wealthy people per- 
ished. A clean sweep was made, and made 
with a decision and unanimity that was in- 
credible. 

It is painful now to recall the terrible nature 
of that civil war. It lasted only a short time, 
but it opened my eyes to the inner plan upon 
which mortal man is based. For I am com- 


m 


THE BLUE GERM 


pelled to admit that this widespread murder, 
that suddenly flashed into being, was founded 
upon impulses that lie deep in man’s heart. 
They were those giant impulses that lie behind 
growth, and the effect of the germ was merely 
to throw them suddenly into the broad light of 
day, unchained, grim and implacable. 

Fortunately, the germ spread steadily and 
quickly, killing as it did so all hate and desire. 

Jason, still free from the germ, flung him- 
self into the general uproar with extraordi- 
nary vigour. It was clear that he thought 
the great opportunity had come which would 
eventually bring him to the height of his power. 
To check the growing lawlessness and murder 
he advocated a new adjustment of property. 
Big meetings were held in the public spaces of 
London, and some wild ideas were formulated. 

In the meantime the medical profession, as 
far as the men yet free from the germ were 
concerned, continued its work in a dull me- 
chanical way. Each day the number of pa- 
tients fell lower, as the Blue Disease slowly 
spread. Hammer, himself an Immortal, came 
to see me once, but only to speak of the neces- 
sity for the immediate simplification of houses. 


THE REVOLT OF THE YOUNG 273 


It was odd to observe how, once a man became 
infected, his former interests and anxieties fell 
away from him like an old garment. In Har- 
ley Street an attitude of stubborn disbelief con- 
tinued amongst those still mortal. There is 
something magnificent in that adamantine 
spirit which refuses to recognize the new, even 
though it moves with ever-increasing distinct- 
ness before the very eyes of the deniers. I was 
not surprised. I was familiar with medical 
men. 

Meanwhile the Royal Family became in- 
fected by the germ, and passed out of the pub- 
lic eye. The Prime Minister became a victim 
and vanished. For once a man had the germ 
in his system, as far as externals were con- 
cerned, he almost ceased to exist. 

The infection of Jason occurred in my pres- 
ence. He had come in to explain to me a 
proposed line of campaign as regards the mar- 
riage laws. 

“This germ of yours has given people the 
courage to think !” he exclaimed. “It is ex- 
traordinary how timid people were in thinking. 
It has launched them out, and now is the time 
to bring in new proposals.” 


THE BLUE GERM 


jm 


“In all your calculations, you omit to recol- 
lect the effects of the germ,” I said. “Surely 
you have seen by now that it changes human 
nature totally?” 

He stared at me uncomprehendingly. He 
was one of those men, so common in public 
life, who have no power of understanding what 
they themselves have not experienced. He 
continued with undiminished enthusiasm. 

“We must have marriage contracts for defi- 
nite periods. With the increased state of 
health, and the full span of life confronting 
every man, we must face the problem squarely. 
Now what stands in our way?” 

He got up and went to the window. It was 
a dull foggy day, and there was frost on the 
ground. He stared outside for some mo- 
ments. 

“What, I repeat, stands in our way?” 

“Well?” 

“The Church, and a mass of superstitions 
that we have inherited from the Old Testa- 
ment. That’s what stands in our way. We 
still attach more value to the Old Testament 
than to the New. The Scotch, for example, 


THE REVOLT OF THE YOUNG 275 


like the Jews. . . . Yes, of course. . . . What 
was I saying?” 

He left the window and sat down once more 
before me, moving rather listlessly. 

“Yes, Harden. Of course. That’s what it 
is, isn’t it? Do you remember — diddle — yes, 
it was diddle, diddle ” 

He paused and frowned. 

“Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle,” 
he muttered. “Yes — hey, diddle, diddle, did- 
dle — that’s what it is, isn’t it?” 

“Of course,” I said. “It’s all really that.” 

“Just diddle, diddle, diddle?” 

“Yes — if you like.” 

“That is substituting diddle for riddle,” he 
said earnestly. He frowned again and passed 
his hand across his eyes. 

“Yes,” I said calmly. “It’s going a step 

up.” 

I suppose about half an hour passed before 
either of us spoke again after this extraordi- 
nary termination to our conversation. In ab- 
solute silence we sat facing one another and 
during that time I saw the blue stain growing 
clearer and clearer in Jason’s eyes. At last 
he rose. 


276 


THE BLUE GERM 


“It’s very odd,” he said. “Tell me, were 
you like this?” 

“How do you feel?” 

“As if I had been drunk and suddenly had 
been made sober. I will leave you. I want to 
think. I will go down to the country.” 

“And your papers?” 

“We must have a new Press,” he said, and 
left the room. 

That same day the great railway accident 
occurred just outside London that led to the 
death of sixty people, many of them Immor- 
tals. Its effect on public imagination was pro- 
found. All dangerous enterprises became in- 
vested with a terrible radiance. Men asked 
themselves if, in face of a future of health, it 
was worth risking life in rashness of any de- 
scription, and gradually traffic came to a stand- 
still. Long before the germ had infected 
the whole populace all activities fraught with 
danger had ceased. The coal mines were 
abandoned. The railways were silent. 
The streets of London became empty of 
traffic. 


THE REVOLT OF THE YOUNG 277 

Blue-stained people began to throng the 
streets of London in vast masses, moving to 
and fro without aim or purpose, perfectly 
orderly, vacant, lost — like Sarakoff’s butter- 
flies. . . . 

Thornduck came to see me one day when 
the reign of the germ was practically absolute 
in London. 

“They are wandering into the country in 
thousands,” he remarked. “They have lost all 
sense of home and possession. They are 
vague, trying to form an ideal socialistic com- 
munity. What a mess your germ is making of 
life! They’re not ready for it. The question 
is whether they will rouse themselves to con- 
sider the food question.” 

“We need scarcely any food,” I replied. 
“I’ve had nothing to eat to-day.” 

“Nor I. But since we’re still linked up to 
physical bodies we must require some nourish- 
ment.” 

“I have eaten two biscuits and a little cheese 
in the last twenty-four hours. Surely you 
don’t think that food is to be a serious problem 
under such circumstances?” 

“It might be. You must remember that 


278 


THE BLUE GERM 


initiative is now destroyed in the vast majority 
of people. They may permit themselves to die 
of inanition. Can you say you have an appe- 
tite now?” 

I reflected for some time, striving to recall 
the feeling of hunger that belonged to the days 
of desire. 

“No. I have no appetite.” 

“Think carefully. In place of appetite have 
you no tendencies?” 

“I feel a kind of lethargy,” I said at last. 
“I felt it yesterday and to-day it is stronger.” 

“As if you wished to sleep ?” 

“Not exactly. But it is akin to that. I 
have some difficulty in keeping my attention on 
things. There is a kind of pull within me away 
from — away from reality.” 

He nodded. 

“I went in to see your Russian friend. He’s 
upstairs. He is not exactly asleep. He is 
more like a man partially under the influence of 
a drug.” 

“I will go and see him,” I said. 

Sarakoff was lying on the bed with his eyes 
shut. He was breathing quietly. His eyelids 
quivered, as if they might open at any moment, 


THE REVOLT OF THE YOUNG 279 


but my entrance did not rouse him. His limbs 
were relaxed. I spoke to him and tried to 
wake him, without result. Then I remem- 
bered how I had stumbled across the body of 
Herbert Wain in the Park some days ago. 
He had seemed to be in a strange kind of sleep. 
I sat down on the bed and stared at the mo- 
tionless figure of the Russian. There was 
something strangely pathetic in his pose. His 
rough hair and black beard, his keen aquiline 
face seemed weirdly out of keeping with his 
helpless state. Here lay the man whose brain 
had once teemed with ambitious desires, relaxed 
and limp like a baby, while the nails of his 
hands, turquoise blue, bore silent witness to 
his great experiment on humanity. Had it 
failed? Where was all that marvellous vision 
of physical happiness that had haunted him? 
The streets of London were filled with people, 
no longer working, no longer crying or weep- 
ing, but moving aimlessly, like people in a 
dream. Were they happy? I moved to the 
window and drew down the blind. 

“This may be the end,” I thought. “The 
germ will be sweeping through France now. 
It may be the end of all things.” 


280 


THE BLUE GERM 


I rejoined Thornduek in the study. 

“Sarakoff is in a kind of trance,” I observed. 
“What do you make of it?” 

“Isn’t it natural?” he asked. “What kind 
of a man was he? What motives did he work 
on? Just think what the killing of desire 
means. All those things that depended on 
worldly ambition, self -gratification, physical 
pleasure, conceit, lust, hatred, passion, egotism, 
selfishness, vanity, avarice, sensuality and so 
on, are undermined and rendered paralysed by 
the germ. What remains? Why, in most 
people, practically nothing remains.” 

“Even so,” I said, “I don’t see why Sarakoff 
should go into a trance.” 

“He’s gone into a trance simply because 
there’s not enough left in him to constitute an 
individuality. The germ has taken the inside 
clean out of him. He’s just an immortal shell 
now.” 

“Then do you think ?” 

I stared at him wonderingly. 

“I think that the germ will send most of the 
world to sleep.” 

He got up and walked to the window. The 
clear noonday light fell on his thin sensitive 


THE REVOLT OF THE YOUNG 281 


face and accentuated the pallor of his skin. 

“All those who are bound on the wheel of 
desire will fall asleep/’ he murmured. A smile 
flickered on his lips and he turned and looked 
at me. 

“Harden,” he said, “it’s really very funny. 
It’s infinitely humorous, isn’t it?” 

“I see nothing humorous in anything,” I re- 
plied. “I’ve lost all sense of humour.” 

He raised his eyebrows. 

“Of humour?” he queried. “Surely not. 
Humour is surely immortal.” 


CHAPTER XXX 


THE GEEAT SLEEP 

O N that day the animals in London fell 
asleep with few exceptions. The excep- 
tions were, I believe, all dogs. I do not pre- 
tend to explain how it came about that dogs 
remained awake longer than other animals. 
The reason may be that dogs have some quality 
in them which is superior even to the qualities 
found in man, for there is a sweetness in the 
nature of dogs that is rare in men and women. 

Many horses were overcome in the streets 
and lay down where they were. No attempt 
was made to remove them. They were left, 
stretched out on their side, apparently uncon- 
scious. 

And many thousands of men and women fell 
asleep. In some cases men were overcome by 
the sleep before their dogs, which has always 
seemed strange to me. It was Thornduck who 
told me this, for he remained awake during this 
period that the germ reigned supreme. He 
282 


THE GREAT SLEEP 


283 


tells me that I fell asleep the next evening in 
my chair in the study and that he carried me 
upstairs to my room. I had just returned 
from visiting Leonora, whom I had found un- 
conscious. He made a tour of London next 
morning. In the City there was a profound 
stillness. 

In the West End matters were much the 
same. In Cavendish Square he entered many 
houses and found silence and sleep within. 
Everywhere doors and windows were wide 
open, giving access to any who might desire it. 
He visited the Houses of Parliament only to 
find a few comatose blue-stained men lying 
about on the benches. For the sleep had over- 
taken people by stealth. One day, passing by 
the Zoo, he had climbed the fence and made 
an inspection of the inmates. With the ex- 
ception of an elephant that was nodding 
drowsily, the animals lay motionless in their 
cages, deep in the trance that the germ induced. 

From time to time he met a man or woman 
awake like himself and stopped to talk. Those 
who still retained sufficient individuality to 
continue existence were the strangest mixture 
of folk, for they were of every class, many 


284 


THE BLUE GERM 


of them being little better than beggars. They 
were people in whom the desire of life played a 
minor part. They were those people who are 
commonly regarded as being failures, people 
who live and die unknown to the world. They 
were those people who devote themselves to 
an obscure existence, shun the rewards of suc- 
cessful careers, and are ridiculed by all prosper- 
ous individuals. It seems that Thornduck was 
instrumental in calling a meeting of these peo- 
ple at St. Paul’s. There were about two thou- 
sand of them in all, but many in the outlying 
suburbs remained ignorant of the meeting, and 
Thornduck considers that in the London dis- 
trict alone there must have been some thou- 
sands who did not attend. At the meeting, 
which must have been the strangest in all his- 
tory, the question of the future was discussed. 
Many believed that the effect of the germ on 
those in the great sleep would ultimately lead 
to a cessation of life owing to starvation. 
Thornduck held that the germ would pass, 
arguing on principles that were so unscientific 
that I refrain from giving them. Eventually 
it appears that a decision was reached to leave 
London on a certain date and migrate south- 


THE GREAT SLEEP 


285 


wards in search of a region where a colony 
might be founded under laws and customs suit- 
able for Immortals. Thornduck says that 
there was one thing that struck him very forci- 
bly at the meeting at St Paul’s. All the peo- 
ple gathered there had about them a certain 
sweetness and strength, which, although it was 
very noticeable, escaped his powers of analysis. 

He attempted on several occasions to get 
into telegraphic communication with the Con- 
tinent, but failed. In his wanderings he en- 
tered many homes, always being careful to lay 
out at full length any of the unconscious in- 
mates who were asleep on chairs, for he feared 
that they might come to harm, and that their 
limbs might become stiffened into unnatural 
postures. 

All the time he had a firm conviction that the 
phase of sleep was temporary. He himself 
had moments in which a slight drowsiness over- 
took him, but he never lost the enhanced power 
of thought that I had experienced in the early 
stages of the Blue Disease. So absolute was 
his conviction that a general awakening would 
come about that he began to busy his mind 
with the question as to what he could do, in 


286 


THE BLUE GERM 


conjunction with the other Immortals who 
were still awake, to benefit humanity when it 
should emerge from the trance. This question 
was discussed continually. Many thought that 
they should burn all records, financial, political, 
governmental and private, so that some oppor- 
tunity of starting afresh might be given to 
mankind, enslaved to the past and fettered by 
law and custom. But the danger of chaos 
resulting from such a step deterred him. He 
confessed that the more he thought on the 
subject the more clearly he saw that under 
the circumstances belonging to its stage of 
evolution, the organization of the world was 
suited to the race that inhabited it. All 
change, he saw, had to come from within, and 
that to alter external conditions suddenly 
and artificially might do incredible harm. We 
were constructed to develop against resistance, 
and to remove such resistances before they had 
been overcome naturally was to tamper with 
the inner laws of life. And so, after long dis- 
cussion, they did nothing. . . . 

It is curious to reflect that they, earnest men 
devoted to progress, having at their mercy the 
machinery of existence, walked through the 


THE GREAT SLEEP 


287 


midst of sleeping London and did nothing. 
But then none of them were fanatics, for 
Thornduck stated that the fanatics fell early to 
sleep, thus proving that the motives behind 
their fanaticism were egotistical, and a source 
of satisfaction to themselves. He made a 
point of visiting the homes of some of them. 
Philanthropists, too, succumbed early. 

On the seventh day after the great sleep had 
overtaken London the effects of the germ 
began to wane. Those who had fallen asleep 
latest were the earliest to open their eyes. The 
blue stain rapidly vanished from eyes, skin and 
nails. ... I regained my waking sense on the 
evening of the seventh day and found myself 
in a small country cottage whither Thornduck 
had borne me in a motor-car, fearing lest 
awakened London might seek some revenge on 
the discoverers of the germ. Sarakoff lay on 
a couch beside me, still fast asleep. 

The first clear idea that came to me con- 
cerned Alice Annot. I determined to go to 
her at once. Then I remembered with vex- 
ation that I had wantonly smashed two vases 
worth ten pounds apiece. 

I struggled to my feet. My hands were thin 


288 


THE BLUE GERM 


and wasted. I was ravenous with hunger. I 
felt giddy. 

“What’s the time?” I called confusedly. 
“It must be very late. Wake up !” 

And I stooped down and began to shake 
Sarakoff violently. 



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